


Aren't We a Mess, Dear?

by CourageousLlama



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Night Terrors, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship(s), Trauma, and then smut, but fluff, gotta love angst, heavy mention of eating disorder, it is very vulgar, lots of fluff, mention of past non-con, okay it gets kinda dark sometimes, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 42,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourageousLlama/pseuds/CourageousLlama
Summary: Marshall Cane is done screaming endlessly into the void of his broken life, as a pivotal point in his mental health drives him to open the deed to his grandfather's farm. He's happy to be anywhere except the city. But when two shattered worlds intercept, how will the farmer learn to settle his own demons while staring at someone else's? Looking into the town drunk's eyes, he knows damaged livers aren't the greatest of the man's worries.
Relationships: Elliott & OC, Emily & Shane (Stardew Valley), Jas & OC, Shane & Jas, Shane & Marnie, Shane/Male Player (Stardew Valley), Shane/Player (Stardew Valley), many friends everyone is friends
Comments: 54
Kudos: 112





	1. A Way Out

**Author's Note:**

> These beginning chapters already hit the ground running in the depressing department. Truly do not continue on if you're not mentally healthy enough to read about suicide attempts, hospitalization, and trauma.

Sliding the slightly stained blades of his generic kitchen scissors under the laminate material, Marshall stared with a dark concentration as he snipped through the hospital bracelet that had clung to his wrist for nearly two weeks. As it fluttered to the ground, so did the last pesky remnants of his doubts.

The yellowed letter was still wide open beside him, as if the years of being forgotten and folded in his tiny desk drawer made its joints scream for a stretch. His eyes skimmed over the words for what felt like the hundredth time- that stupefied look settling on his features again. He had quit his job at JojaCorp today after returning from his stay at Zuzu Behavioral Health only yesterday. It was the biggest risk he had ever taken in his life, but he had already made his mind a week into the program.

Marshall deserved better than this, he had decided. His miserable childhood had flowed into a miserable adulthood like a river emptying into an ocean of unresolved despair. Feeling trapped was as familiar to him as the lines etched into his palm. Yet not once had he learned how to resolve it. Being on the ward and hearing his fellow patient’s stories, he realized that there is always one constant in life: Marshall can decide that he’s worth escape.

Escape from his shitty desk job at JojaCorp where his boss would leer at him and take advantage of his low self-esteem and crumpled shoulders. Escape from the friends that used his amicability to strong-arm him into experiences he wasn’t comfortable with. Escape from his parents, who lived close by and loved to drop in unannounced to drag up childhood feelings he had suppressed.

The psychiatrist on the ward had sent him with a mid-range dose of Zoloft and plenty of contacts in the city. Stepping out into the surprisingly foreign sun, (where were the fences to keep him in? The locked doors that could only be accessed by key card?) Marshall was unsure of where he would take his life, but he knew that his first step was going to be his resignation letter.

The aforementioned letter was met with barely more than a scoff as a cardboard box for his things was shoved into his arms. As rude as the send off was, he couldn’t help but smile. It proved his point. He deserved more. He deserved people that cared whether he stayed or went. He hummed happily under his breath as he shoveled his meager belongings from the cramped drawer into the cramped box, too lost in his post-adrenaline bliss to pay attention to the contents.

Back home, he dumped the box onto his bed and caught something in his peripheral vision that made his face burn with a tinge of shame. He had forgotten to take his hospital bracelet off. Returning his attention to the pile of junk on his comforter, he spied an old envelope with a stark red wax seal. His grandfather’s name was in the return address. Marshall can’t believe he’d forgotten. After his mom’s dad died, his parents had tried hiding this letter from Marshall out of spite. The day Marshall ran away from home at 18, he snagged the letter (as if any hiding place had been foreign to Marshall since age six).

After shakily opening the letter, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

_Marshall,_

_My dear boy, if you are reading this then it appears that my time has run out. While my life has had its fair share of ups and downs, rest assured that it ended peacefully. I have led a fulfilling lifestyle on my farm and made many genuine relations with my fellow townsfolk. Your trips to Briar Steep farm were by far the highlights of this journey. The sparkle in your youthful eyes as I taught you how to coax life from the soil solidified in me that you were the only rightful heir to my land. It was much too early in your life when I first spotted the clouds that lingered in your gaze, Marshy. If this dreadfully old man knows anything, I know that you will likely settle that curious mind behind an unforgiving screen. If ever you find that life to be squeezing the soul out of you, I hope you will carry on the legacy of Briar Steep. You are destined for great things. My heart is full of admiration and confidence that you will make the right choice._

_With eternal love,_

_Grandpa_

Marshall’s tears had long been painting the letter at this point and at the conclusion, a gut-wrenching sob tore from his throat. Through his squinted eyes, everything seemed to glow with his tears and the light that cast through the window of his pitifully small apartment. As the implications of it all raced through his mind, he had to read the letter over and over and over to make sure this wasn’t some sick dream. Some sickly tantalizing fantasy that he would snap out of to find himself back at that rickety desk with a glossy, dream look fading from his eyes. As if almost to scream at his brain that it was real, he squeezed his eyes shut before opening them. When he looked down, he saw he’d also been squeezing the letter like he were going to juice it into a glass of ice.

He relaxed his grip and his lungs collapsed into a watery, yet content sigh. His mind slowly de-fogged and he _laughed._ He laughed at the incredulity of it all. Him? Marshall? Owns a farm? He hadn’t even ever grown a fucking flower for a stupid centerpiece, yet his beloved late grandfather saw potential in _him?_

After cutting off the hospital bracelet, he attempted to gather his thoughts again. How does he make this happen, anyway? He scanned the top and the bottom of the letter for more details only to see more yellowed parchment. Thankfully, upon flipping it over, he saw a phone number with a name scrawled underneath. He quickly punched it into the keypad of his phone. The phone only rang a couple of times before it was answered.

“Hello? Mayor Lewis...? I’m Marshall Cane, grandson of Everett Cane and”—a bark of a chuckle ascended from his chest, which was warm and hopeful—“and I think I’ve inherited a farm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback is the life elixir to this piece! If you want more, speak up! I'm excited to see if I'm doing this right.


	2. Who Cares?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh! I forgot to mention that this is going to be a *split POV* fic. Some chapters stay in one POV, but later chapters will switch POV a few times. As those chapters emerge, I will provide a legend to show what symbols mark these changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More exposition, this time from Shane's POV.

Shane couldn’t hold back his annoyed groan any longer. The sound earned him a short glare from Emily, as the blue haired bartender paused her conversation with Pam to acknowledge the rude drunk in the corner. All Emily has been talking about over the past week is the “lovely new farmer” who’s apparently moving in from the city to live on Everett’s old dilapidated farm. Shane never knew the old man himself, having only moved in eight or nine months ago, but he really didn’t care for his hotshot of a grandson. Typically, Shane was a master at blocking out the mindless chatter that went on around him at the saloon. His most treasured ability was being able to drink until English was foreign, yet still carry himself back home in one piece (ideally without fertilizing any bushes along the way).

However, the recurring conversation topic was making his surroundings harder to tune out. Shane wouldn’t admit that his own damning curiosity played a hand in this, but he would admit that he didn’t give a shit if people called him an asshole. Therefore, he returned Emily’s glare with a scathing look of his own. Emily just rolled her eyes and turned back to Pam, resuming the conversation at a spitefully louder volume. Apparently, the kid was coming tomorrow. Probably some douchebag exec from the city with an unchecked bucket list item and a savings to burn.

He tipped the contents of his glass down his throat and set it on the bar, having half a mind to slam it but also knowing that would be a little over the top (even for him). Emily exchanged it for a full glass wordlessly. As Shane began swiftly working on round six for the night, he pulled out his phone to look at his work schedule. _Fuck,_ he thought. _Another 8am tomorrow._ He really shouldn’t have bought this beer, but he’d be damned if he’d waste it. With that, he chugged and – unintentionally – slammed the empty glass down on the bar before gifting his fist with a belch.

“You really need to slow down a bit, Shane,” He didn’t even see Emily come up to him. Despite their frequent animosity, she was always still kind to him. It annoyed him. Kindness was always a front for a less favorable emotion: pity, disgust, annoyance. No, he didn’t care at all for her fucking kindness. But alas, she always did fill his mug and let him settle his tab on his own terms so he supposed he should keep some level of chivalry.

So instead of snapping at her, he merely grunted and threw several crumpled bills for her to put toward his tab. Turning around too quickly, his entire vision rocked like a ship and his eyelids drooped as a groan escaped his lips. Before anyone could question him or give him that blood-boiling pity look, he forced his feet to carry him toward the front door.

Just before he got there, he was intercepted by Haley, Emily’s younger and exponentially more obnoxious sister.

“Hey Shane,” she deadpanned, looking him up and down with a camera tucked in her hands. She quickly covered her brief disgust at his appearance with her usual mask of chipper attitude. “I’m practicing my photography and I’m getting headshots of everyone around town, can I get a picture of you?” She seemed to wish Shane would say no, as she couldn’t quite mask the way her nose was slightly crinkled at the bridge.

In any other circumstance, Shane would have no problem briskly brushing her off. In his alcohol-induced state, Shane’s dismissal was usually more unpleasant but it was still swift. However, his adrenaline picked up as he stared at the camera, his brain hastily trying to remember how to say “no” when the gripping emotion _fear_ was added in the mix. Haley must have taken his awkward pause as permission as she swiftly raised her camera-

“No!” he choked out, a moment too late. As her finger pressed the button, the camera clicked and a bright flash flooded his eyes. In that moment he heard their screams again. Or was it the squealing of the tires? Who knew? All Shane knew was that when he came back down to Earth, he found he had been echoing those sounds into a very shocked and concerned bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shane's background with Jas is going to be pretty thoroughly fleshed out, and his and Marshall's battle with their respective PTSD will be a regular undertone. Like I said! Y'know...! Just a little warning! I said there would be warnings! Okay, it's 2am and I'm goofy.


	3. A Hot Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marshall is kind of a hot mess... oh and yes, also the farm is trashed.

Marshall’s head bounced on the bus window as his lips parted in a silent snore. A particularly rough bump woke him with a start as his skull clunked against the glass. He squinted, a large yawn drifting from his mouth as he stretched in the seat. He felt for his wallet and his phone in his pockets, as if he were paranoid about being pick-pocketed in his sleep. He hadn’t brought much with him – he hadn’t had much _to_ bring. His suitcase was filled with just his clothes, toiletries, and a meaningful stuffed elephant that he had since he was a kid. Truthfully, it was one of the only toys he’d had as a kid. That didn’t get broken, burned, or sold, anyway.

He had been riding for half an hour now and his legs begged to unfold and stretch. As if the bus driver heard his thoughts, his stop was announced. He hastily gathered his things and shuffled into the aisle, excitement bubbling in his chest as he bounded off the bus. As soon as his feet hit the dirt, anxiety snuggled up next to his excitement and his eyes scanned for any sort of direction. Thankfully, he quickly spotted two people waving him over from a path that connected to the bus stop. A red-headed woman with a crisp shirt and a tool belt stood next to a middle-aged brunette man. Marshall assumed the brunette was Mayor Lewis.

As he closed the distance, the look in their faces unconsciously put Marshall at ease and he found a gentle smile playing at his lips. He stuck out his hand in unison with Mayor Lewis and they shook.

“Marshall! Oh, it’s such a pleasure. As you probably already know, I am Mayor Lewis but you can just call me Lewis.” He put a gentle hand on the tall boy’s shoulder and swiveled him toward the red head. “And this is Robin, our skilled town carpenter.”

“Nice to meet you Marshall!” she said, with a warm energy. “If you want your house expanded or some farm buildings made, I’m your gal! I live just North of Briar Steep.” Marshall couldn’t begin to imagine a time where he would have enough money to do either of those things, but he was appreciative, nonetheless.

“Thank you! It’s wonderful to be here. It still feels a bit surreal, to be honest,” he admitted, realizing his smile had turned into a full-blown grin. Lewis let out a hearty laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well then let’s get you to the farm.” His expression shifted for a moment. “I will be upfront, though, that the farm has not received upkeep since your grandfather’s passing. It will require quite a lot of care to restore.” Marshall’s grin never left his face, though. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t care as long as his work didn’t consist of a computer or a desk.

“Naw, that’s all right,” he reassured. “I’m just glad to be here.” It came out sounding corny and maybe even a little desperately ignorant, but something in Marshall told him that this was _right_. In any case, his answer seemed to please both of his new townspeople as they smiled and led him to the right and onto the farm.

Stepping onto the farm, Marshall instantly realized that Lewis wasn’t joking. Rocks, boulders, trees, branches, stumps, weeds, and grass littered the once gorgeous expanse that was Grandpa’s farm. At the northernmost face of the farm, Marshall’s eyes lit up as he spotted his Grandpa’s old, tiny cottage. As weathered as it was, he felt a sense of home and belonging in the structure. Lewis must have caught his longing gaze.

“Ah yes, Everett’s humble residence. I will say that when you called, we did take measures to ensure it was clean and fixed and functional,” Lewis explained.

“May I go in?” Marshall asked tentatively. Again, Lewis’s hearty laughter emerges. Not the unkind laughter that is borne to make you feel less than, but the kind of laughter that makes you feel... safe.

“It’s your farm, of course!” Lewis led them to the porch steps before turning around. “Also, I do hope you consider coming into town to introduce yourself. Everyone has been excited to meet the new farmer boy.”

_Farmer,_ Marshall thought to himself in silent wonder. _I’m a farmer._

“Lewis, let the boy catch his breath,” Robin gently scolded the mayor, shooting a knowing look at a very clearly tired Marshall.

“My apologies, I get carried away,” Lewis said, taking out a key to unlock the door. Once the front door creaked open, the man turned and deposited the key into Marshall’s hand. His dark brown eyes twinkled with delight. “Welcome home, farmer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you hate me if I told you the first interaction wasn't until chapter 5? Maybe I got too anxious about writing long chapters.


	4. Of Crops and Cats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to push out three more chapters, to at least provide people with enough traction to get interested (hopefully). I've been writing still, as my free time allows and I'm stalling on chapter 20. These chapters get longer as the fic goes on (chapter 18 is the longest yet at nearly 3k words). Hopefully this gives everyone something to look forward to?

It had been a full week since Marshall moved into Briar Steep farm, and boy was he under prepared. He couldn’t seem to buy enough Ibuprofen from Harvey to dull the screaming ache in his muscles. He was careful not to push himself too hard too fast, so he did a little more each day. The very first day, Marshall was embarrassed to discover he could only do some heavy de-weeding with his hands and his scythe before his body begged for reprieve. It occurred to Marshall that he may not be making substantial profits for a little while, and he thanked his past self for not being a frivolous spender and having a sufficient savings.

On the second day, he swung his tools with a focused determination, cracking through the small rocks and branches that were out in front of his porch. Satisfied with the small area he’d cleared, he tilled some soil and planted the parsnips Lewis had given him. The sun had long set by now, and as he tipped his watering can over the thirsty crops, he caught two glowing eyes staring at him from the bushes to his left.

With a startled yelp, he dropped the watering can and the creature disappeared into the foliage, with a soft rustle. Forcing his heart-rate to slow, he looked with an annoyed groan at his watering can emptying into the soil. As he went to refill it, he thought he heard more rustling from those bushes, but he forced himself to keep calm. _It’s the wilderness, Marshy,_ he scolded himself. _Quit being such a wimp._

Day six was when the pride really started kicking in. Marshall had his first batch of parsnips ready for harvest.

“Not to toot my own horn,” he said under his breath as he examined his crops. “But these look fucking _good._ ” He carefully deposited them in the shipping bin when he caught a figure walking from the south entrance of farm. She was a stout and robust woman with long curly hair. Marshall had met a few of the townsfolk so far, but his immense workload had kept him on his farm for the most part. He surely didn’t recognize this woman, but with the gentle smile on her face, he felt his lips curling up.

As she approached, Marshall felt his excitement increase tenfold when he spotted the soft kitten nestled against her chest.

“Hey there!” she started with a jovial tone. “Farmer Marshall, right?” He gave a small nod. “Pleasure to meet ya. I’m Marnie and I sell all the livestock around here; and this little critter”—she paused to use her index and thumb to stroke the cat on the head, who was purring curiously—“was wanderin’ around your farm so I figured I’d see if you would give her a good home. She looks awful young and I’d hate to see the poor thing snatched by somethin’ with an appetite.”

“O-of course!” Marshall loved animals (even whatever nearly scared the piss out of him the other night) and especially phrased like that, there was no way he’d turn the kitten down.

“Well you gotta name her then!” Marnie said, excitedly. At this, Marshall’s brow furrowed in thought. He thought of his old childhood best friend who had moved away when they were in third grade. How they hugged and cried for hours in the hallway after the choked words had fallen from her quivering lips. How they promised to write but Marshall found out when he was 16 that his parents had been trashing her letters.

While Marshall was deep in thought, Marnie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, wondering if she should just start listing names for him and see what sticks. Finally, Marshall looked up at her, the furrow gone from his brow. “Amelia,” he said confidently.

“Well then little Amelia,” she turned to the cat again. “Welcome home.” Marnie carefully shuffled the cat into Marshall’s arms. Immediately the kitten closed its eyes and began to purr. “Oh, you seem to have a way with animals. You should drop by my ranch sometime and take a look at the livestock. I’m sure you could raise some beautiful chickens,” she gushed, gesturing behind her toward the south end. Truthfully, Marshall hadn’t even cleared the debris down there. How the hell Marnie even meandered her way over was beyond him, but he nodded eagerly and thanked her.

As Marnie turned to make her way back home, the sun began to set. Since he’d harvested his crops and essentially adopted a new friend, Marshall figured he deserved an early night. “Yeah, I think I’m going to bed,” he said aloud. “What d’ya think about that, Amelia?” The fluff ball gave him a small meow and then yawned, sharp little teeth glinting in the dying light before her pink tongue settled just a millimeter outside her lips. Marshall’s heart swelled with affection as he carried her inside.

The house was dark as he set Amelia down on his comforter. As soon as he set her down, she opened her eyes and Marshall gasped. Her glowing eyes matched the pair he saw in the bushes the other day.

 _Bastard_ , he thought to himself with a chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you can. They really help with the motivation like you wouldn't believe.


	5. For Breakfast: Fried Nerves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first interaction :D as is par with Shane, it's not pleasant...  
> Obligatory warning that this chapter marks the first mention of Marshall's eating disorder. Please don't read if you're not in a good place on that subject.

When Marshall awoke the next morning, he was ecstatic to find Amelia curled by his chest, sleeping soundly. He tried to get up without waking her, but as soon as the bed shifted, her eyes shot open and she fired off another one of those adorable yawns. Marshall scratched her behind the ears, listening to her purring, which Marshall quickly decided was his favorite sound. He went to his mailbox and found an envelope full of cash from the parsnips he sold. He laughed in delight, quickly counting his money. He felt Amelia weaving her small black body between his legs and he looked down at her, to be greeted with a loud meow.

“Oh hmm, I’m going to need some cat supplies, huh?” he voiced, scooping her up. He went into town, carrying her in one arm and the envelope in the other. He remembered where Pierre’s store was but grumbled when he saw the store hours: 9am – 5pm.

He checked his phone and his grumbling became more agitated as the screen seemed to take great pleasure in announcing the time was 7:10am.

 _I’m such an idiot, what the hell am I to do for nearly two hours,_ he thought grumpily. While lost in thought, Marshall spotted another figure entering into the town plaza from the South. _Who else is even up this early?_ he asked himself. As the boy neared, he saw lazily brushed locks of dark purple hair and a sickly blue JojaMart uniform. Marshall felt his insides twist, suddenly feeling like he’d been dropped right back into that stuffy cubicle, googling how to get a prescription for sleeping pi-

“Take a picture, asshole. It’ll last longer,” the gruff, agitated voice cut through his reverie and he noticed that while he’d been in his own thoughts, he’d been boring holes into the man. The stranger’s green eyes narrowed and his expression was dark. There was more to the look, but Marshall’s thought train derailed as he flustered and color flooded to his cheeks. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the man just scoffed and had already passed him.

 _Good job, you blubbering idiot,_ he loathed at himself. _Keep that up and you’ll ensure you end up lonely and worthless here, too._

The waves of embarrassment crushed him before he looked down and realized there was no cat in his arms. His heart instantly jumped into his throat as he whipped his head, looking around for her. He heard a dull clank nearby and ran to it. Next to a wooden building, a trashcan was tipped on its side. In the midst of the garbage – beer cans, old food, wrappers – a small black tail thrashed happily in the air.

“Amelia!” Marshall yelled, lifting the cat from the rubbish. Just then, the door of the wooden building creaked open and Marshall’s still flustered emotional state increased to an agonizing level of anxiety and shame. A portly man stepped down the stairs and rounded the corner to see a tall, frazzled man holding a small black kitten.

“What in the name of-“ he began but was cut off when Marshall began word-vomiting in a panic.

“I-I’m so sorry! I was waiting for Pierre to open up because I sold my parsnips yesterday and I got the money today and I needed more seeds and I needed cat supplies for Amelia.” As he rambled, he gestured wildly between his home, Pierre’s shop, and his cat. “And when I looked down, she was gone and I heard something crash and so I came running over and she was digging in your trash. I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it up don’t worry. I won’t bother you again, I’m sor-“ he was cut off by the man’s laughter. Like Lewis’s, the laughter wasn’t threatening or belittling. If anything, he sensed genuine amusement in the other man’s eyes.

“Oh, kid please calm down it’s quite alright! I’m Gus and I own the Stardrop Saloon here. I assume you’re Marshall, the new farmer.” He stuck out his hand and Marshall wiped his clammy palm on his jeans before returning the handshake, biting his bottom lip worriedly. The barkeep headed to his tipped over trash bin and Marshall set Amelia on the ground with a stern look as if to say, _“You better stay right here”_. Amelia ducked her head and licked at her chest calmly, feigning innocence. Marshall helped Gus pick up the trash and put it back in the bin, before securing the lid on top.

“Again, I’m really sor-“

“Quit your apologizing, son.” Gus smiled with a flip of his hand. “It’s perfectly alright. It’s good to put a face to a name. Lotta people been eager to get to know you. You should come by the saloon this evening and introduce yourself. I’ll tell you what, first drink and meal’s on the house,” his eyes twinkled with hospitality and Marshall couldn’t help but beam back. He had knocked over Gus’s trash, yet Gus was offering him a free meal? It’s no wonder Grandpa loved this place.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Marshall chuckled, shaking his hand. “See you this evening, Gus.” He departed as Gus waved farewell. With Amelia walking at his side, he checked his phone. 8:20am. He sighed and waited the rest of the 40 minutes playing with his cat.

-

Later that evening, Marshall examined the work he had gotten done. He had bought a variety of seeds from Pierre this morning – parsnips, potatoes, beans, and cauliflower – as well as cat food, toys, and a litterbox for Amelia. He sensed she liked to be an outside cat; but when he was tipping the canister of fresh litter into the box, he figured better safe than sorry. He checked his phone: 6:54pm. Perfect time to start getting ready.

He headed to the bathroom for a shower. As the water warmed up, he looked at himself in the mirror. The short time he had been on the farm was already beginning to show on his body. He had always been quite thin, due to a combination of his height and... other things. _Let’s not go there,_ he thought to himself. But now, he was already able to see more definition, especially in his chest and shoulders. Marshall figured he could stomach his reflection for now as he hopped under the hot water.

Marshall applied deodorant and dried his hair, rolling eyes as his black hair fluffed out in the uncoordinated waves that never seemed to want to cooperate. His gray green eyes stared back at him, before he made a face at himself and hastily cut off the light. After dressing in his go-to ensemble of black jeans and a loose white t-shirt with cuffed sleeves, he deemed himself presentable enough to go out.

Right before he left toward the town, he almost tripped over Amelia as she wove in between his legs.

“Sure sure, you can come, too,” he cooed at her with amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing the newest chapters, proofreading these first ones as I'm posting them makes me smile at how far they grow in later chapters. I'm excited to share with y'all


	6. You Just Get It Don't You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first Split POV chapter. As promised, here is the meager legend.
> 
> \- (Single hyphen just indicates time passing, not a POV shift)  
> -M- (Shift to Marshall's POV, may or may not include passing of time)  
> -S- (Shift to Shane's POV, also may or may not include passing of time)

Shane was nestled in his usual spot near the fireplace, nursing beer number two. The night was still young, and he still had so much left to numb. Work had been rougher than usual, as Morris was having him prepare the store for a big sale. Morris and his fucking sales. Anything to get the customers. _Anything to wear down your employees,_ Shane thought bitterly. He would have quit long ago if it weren’t for Marnie and Jas. Marnie had been kind enough to take him and Jas in, so Shane would never dream of missing rent. Still, sometimes he wished it could all melt away. Or that at least _he_ could melt away. Melt away and stop being such a burden to bear. In between the night terrors, he often found himself having regular nightmares of Marnie kicking him out and taking custody of Jas. Or of Jas telling him she didn’t want him around anymore.

These thoughts twisted like venomous snakes in Shane’s mind and he almost didn’t realize the bell above the door jingled to signal another townsperson. Instinctively he looked up and felt an unrivaled amount of agitation at how his heart did a small flip when he saw the new farmer stroll in, cat in tow. Marshall, he thinks his name is. Okay, so he _is_ eavesdropping a little on the nightly chatter. As Marshall’s eyes scanned the room, Shane dropped his gaze into his mug before their eyes could meet. Another reason work had sucked was due to a gnawing feeling of guilt at having been an asshole to Marshall this morning. It was obvious the boy was more so looking _through_ him and not _at_ him. But all Shane’s ever known is defense.

As he sipped – okay, gulped – his beer, he saw in his peripheral that Marshall had sidled up to the bar. Earlier, he’d speculated that Marshall was some rich, entitled brat with a superiority complex. To his chagrin, Shane couldn’t help but suspect that might be far from the truth.

“Hey Marshall!” Shane heard Emily say as they shook hands. “Gus told me he’d promised you a couple things on the house, so what’ll it be?” Shane saw the little black cat curled under the farmer’s bar stool. Cats were cute, but he preferred chickens.

“How about a beer and a pizza,” Marshall drawled, seeming to relax. His voice was deep and warm, and Shane couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed at the flutter in his chest upon hearing it. Instead, he just listened more as Marshall introduced himself to the various people around him. Pam said something that made Marshall throw his head back and laugh, a deep and chest-filling rumble. Shane realized he’d been biting his lip and that seemed to be his threshold for letting himself be enamored by someone, as he instantly forced his body language and expression to harden and cool over again.

He gulped down the rest of his beer. For the hour that Marshall had been in the bar, Shane had only been listening, careful to not let his gaze wander. Now that his drink was gone though, he needed another. As soon as he looked up and towards the bar, it would of course be the farmer’s eyes that he caught staring. Shane would die before he wilted under someone else’s gaze though, so he stared back with a carefully crafted look of apathy that bordered on annoyance. The farmer’s brow furrowed and he squinted almost imperceptibly before he looked down and away, like Shane was a fucking bug under a microscope. He didn’t care for that shit at all.

“What?” Shane spat. Unlike earlier this morning, the farmer’s face didn’t flush and his expression was utterly unreadable when he looked back up. Shane juggled awkwardly with his anger before dropping it and finding himself being the one to don a curious look.

“Need another beer?” that damned voice asked simply. Shane couldn’t look away from the beautiful light eyes that stared back at him. _Beautiful?_ Shane’s thoughts dripped with venom. _Get a fucking grip, man._

“Sure, whatever,” Shane’s voice came out softer than he’d have liked. He almost audibly sighed with relief when Marshall broke eye contact to politely flag Emily down. Emily quickly brought two beers, placing one in front of Marshall and one in front of the empty stool next to him. She threw Shane a quick smirk at the implications. _Clever bitch,_ he thought, striding over to his seating arrangement. He settled onto the barstool, instantly wrapped by the warmth and scent that the farmer gave off.

The farmer who was... not saying anything. Shane mentally shrugged. That was how Marshall and Shane ended up drinking comfortably next to each other for half an hour in complete silence. Finally, the farmer spoke.

-M-

“You work at JojaMart, huh?” It was lame, but it was the only entrance into the topic that Marshall could think of. Shane – Emily told Marshall his name before he bought the drinks – was undoubtedly alluring to Marshall. Despite how rude he was this morning, Marshall felt like he was dunked in ice-cold water every time he locked eyes. It was selfishly ignorant of him to think, but he felt as if he saw some of himself in Shane’s eyes. Only Shane’s walls of defense were interlaced with anger, as opposed to Marshall, who had mastered the art of calm indifference. Shane sparked something else in Marshall, but that wasn’t something he was ready to confront.

“Guess you don’t need brains to farm,” Shane said dryly.

“Wasn’t listed in the job requirements, no,” he countered. He was pleased to hear a quiet chuckle from his neighbor. He took another long sip of beer and contemplated how he wanted to take the conversation. He decided to keep playing aloof, suspecting Shane wouldn’t appreciate presumptuous either. “Do you like working there?” As expected, Shane gave a sharp bark of laughter that dripped with sarcasm.

“Okay, now I know you’ve gotta be fuckin’ with me,” he replied, tipping his mug back. Marshall watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed and a drop of beer escaped his lips and traveled down his chin. Shane caught him and slammed his empty mug down on the bar. “Quit that,” he said, without much malice in his voice. Marshall let a small smirk slip.

“It’s not any better in the city,” he said, signaling to Emily to get Shane another.

“You worked for JojaMart in the city?” Shane’s voice carried more disgust than surprise, which Marshall supposed was fair.

“Close, corporate. Desk, cubicle, monitor, shitty boss. The works.” Marshall shrugged his shoulders to preserve his apathetic front, but he knew Shane likely saw the haunted look in his eyes. “No matter where they’re stationed, Joja will suck the soul out of anyone.” As Marshall spoke, he pretended not to notice Shane’s eyes boring into the side of his face. He chose his next words very carefully. “Not many make it out alive, not in the city.”

“What’s so worse about the city?” was the immediate reply. It was defensive, challenging. Marshall anticipated that.

“In a small town, everyone knows you. You have no chance to be unnoticed or drop off the grid,” Marshall spoke carefully. “The city“—he turned to lock eyes with Shane, whose expression was unreadable—”the city can swallow you whole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's the end of this chapter splurge! Next chapter is fluffy and sweet, so stay tuned for that one!


	7. We Both Hide, We Have Different Seekers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very fluffy, but also beginning to truly dip into darker territory

Shane woke the next morning without a hangover. Upon realizing, he noted with surprise that he had only four beers last night. Talking to Marshall seemed to have eaten up his drinking time. Shane kept remembering the look in Marshall’s eyes when he spoke about the city. Shane hated that look because it reminded him of... himself. Shane would sooner ask for a double shift at JojaMart than begin to contemplate the idea that someone else might understand.

Especially not someone like _Marshall._ Marshall with his soft hair and pink lips and entrancing gaze-

 _What the fuck?_ Shane thought internally. Anyone watching Shane on the outside would’ve seen how his lip curled in a snarl and his nostrils flared. He denied himself to think about the stupid farmer anymore today.

He took a quick – cold – shower and got ready for another draining shift. JojaMart had ruined this shade of blue for him. He preferred the blue of his favorite hoodie. Or the blue of his upcoming hens. He smiled, thinking about his chickens. Charlie was his favorite, and Shane shoved himself into his uniform while deciding he would pay her a visit.

Marnie smiled at him when he stepped into the kitchen. She glanced down to a glass of water and bottle of Advil that she had set out for him preemptively.

“I’m actually good today,” he said slowly. He saw her quirk a brow and smile.

“Well, all right... want some bacon?” she shook the pan of cooked bacon over a plate and handed it to him. He thanked her and shoved a couple pieces in his mouth before heading out to the chicken coop. Instantly, a familiar form trotted toward him at full speed, clucking happily. A loud laugh warmed his chest as he picked Charlie up and cradled her close to his heart. Charlie pecked at the beard that was starting to grow in on his face.

“Yeah, I know I need to shave, thanks,” he feigned annoyance as he ruffled her feathers. His phone suddenly made a series of monotone beeps in his pocket and he sighed, turning the alarm off. “Well, time for another day in hell,” he mumbled. Charlie clucked again in response, looking up at him with innocent eyes. He allowed himself one more smile and patted her on the head before setting off. On the way to work, he found himself hoping he would run into Marshall. He scoffed, disgusted with himself and kept walking with his eyes downcast.

Walking into JojaMart, he saw Morris sneering at him and he went to clock in.

“Well, well, Shane it seems you are late _once again_.” Morris nearly spat the last part. Shane glanced at the clock to see it was two minutes past the hour. His brow furrowed in agitation and he began to gesture at the clock when Morris, who undoubtedly sensed what he was about to say, cut him off. “Don’t argue with me!” His voice was shrill, not unlike nails on a chalkboard. “Get to stocking! You have a lot of work to do. Shoo, get out of my sight,” Morris hissed.

Shane grit his teeth painfully as he stalked to the back and dragged out one of the many large carts of unstocked material and tried to drown himself in the monotony of it.

-

5 o’clock finally came and Shane felt momentary relief at his shift being over. He clocked out and grabbed a case of cheap beer, carrying it to check out. Morris scanned it and counted out his change with a shit-eating grin. Before dropping the change in Shane’s upturned palm, he paused, holding the coins hostage.

“Come in with a hangover tomorrow and you’re fired,” he said, menacingly, opening his fist clumsily so that the change scattered everywhere. Shane didn’t even dignify the short, pathetic man with a glare as he scooped up his residual money and walked out without looking back.

He was going to find a nice spot to drink tonight.

-M-

Marshall was exhausted from clearing more of his fields and watering the abundant amount of crops he’d been buying. The constant stream of work made it easy to not think too much about last night with Shane. There were too many feelings surrounding the man that Marshall really didn’t want to put a name to. He wouldn’t say he was _avoiding_ the Saloon tonight, but he definitely wasn’t going to go out of his way to show up there. He decided to go for a walk instead.

He had finally cleared a path to the southern mouth of the farm. As he traveled, Amelia stayed in step with him. He had never owned a pet, but not even his friend’s pets seemed to be as affectionate or attentive as Amelia was with him. He made sure to not just feed her cat food, but some of the fish he caught as well. He never failed to make sure her water bowl was topped up and her litter box clean. In turn, she kept him company and snuggled with him at night. She was also slowly growing bigger, and he was proud to see his care for her being reflected.

As they exited Briar Steep farm, Marshall remembered that this was where Marnie lived. Maybe if his crops yielded him enough, he could start getting coops and livestock. His thoughts were cut short as he saw a light in the distance, by the pond. As he drew closer, he was able to make out the back of Shane, surrounded by beer cans. The lantern cast a pale glow on the pier Shane sat on, and Marshall noticed the heaviness in his shoulders. His own shoulders almost instinctively reflected the posture and his heart ached as he realized numbly just how familiar Shane’s exhaustion was.

He was going to turn around and leave him be when Shane called out.

“You gonna join?” Marshall sucked in a surprised breath but ambled down to the pier. He moved the lantern so he would have room to sit. The pier was narrow, though, and he prayed that the dark night obscured the untimely redness rising to his cheeks when his thigh touched Shane’s. “I could feel your fucking eyes on the back of my head,” Shane slurred, obviously very drunk.

“I guess I do have a bit of a staring problem,” Marshall hummed quietly. He glanced to left to see Shane staring into the water.

“A bit?” Shane mocked, somewhat harshly. “You’re doing it again,” he said in exasperation. Marshall tore his gaze away, nibbling on his bottom lip. He felt something cold and looked down to see Shane pressing a beer into his hand. He muttered his thanks and gulped it down, hoping to conjure back that relaxed feeling from the night before. He was surprised to hear Shane genuinely chuckle. “Fast drinker, huh? A man after my own heart.” Marshall’s stomach erupted in butterflies when he heard this, and he didn’t think even the blackest of nights could hide the fire that burned in his cheeks. Maybe he could just blame the alcohol.

“Don’t make it a habit, though,” Shane continued. “You still got a future ahead of you.” Okay, now that was a bit condescending. Before Marshall could contain himself, he roared with laughter and collapsed backwards on the pier. Amelia meowed in surprise and jumped into Marshall’s lap to curl up there.

“Two things,” Marshall said with a sloppy grin that made Shane’s heart-rate pick up. “One, that’s rich. Two, who’s to say you don’t?” Shane didn’t reply, though. Instead he turned to Amelia and stroked her fur. Amelia’s purring increased and Marshall tensed, trying not to think about how close Shane’s large hand was to his crotch. Eventually, Shane spoke quietly.

“I’ve fucked up beyond return. You only get a set number of chances in life, Marsh, and I’ve exhausted mine.” The combination of the nickname and the proximity made his head swim. However, Shane’s words also made his heart twist with a pain he hadn’t felt before. Usually his pain was a reflection of his own misery. Never before had Marshall’s pain reflected someone else’s misery; someone he cared for. _Cared for?_ He thought languidly. You know what, he could accept that.

In Marshall’s silence, Shane stopped petting Amelia and laid down next to his drinking buddy, shoulders and arms touching and the air between them heavy yet charged.

-S-

He was too drunk to care about how much he enjoyed the close contact with Marshall. He allowed himself to relax into it. When Marshall broke the silence, he welcomed the warmth in the pit of his stomach that he was starting to get every time he heard that low bass.

“I used to think that, too,” Marshall began softly. “I thought that my life was my punishment for my mistakes.” As he spoke, Shane found himself turning his head to face Marshall, the wood of the pier scraping at his skin. “I was trapped. Like a rat in a cage, I was trapped. It wasn’t until...” Shane watched as Marshall gulped nervously, tracing the way his tongue snuck out to wet his lips before he continued. “Well I needed a big wake up call to realize that the lock was actually inside.” Shane watched as a lone tear slithered down the side of Marshall’s face to get lost in his hair. Shane’s breath hitched when Marshall turned his face toward Shane, their noses only a few inches apart as a smirk stretched across his lips.

“Who has a staring problem now?” the farmer whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided I'm going to push out a chapter per night! I'm fairly confident I'm far enough in the writing to do this without running dry too quickly.


	8. Insecurity Is a Helluva Drug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell just how utterly knowledgeable I am about cameras? /s

As spring rolled into Summer, Marshall found himself utterly engrossed in life on the farm. A few days ago, he decided to venture into the mines, which unfortunately meant he couldn’t let Amelia tag along. Marlon taught him how to swing a sword, but nothing could’ve prepared Marshall for the cold and dangerous maw of the caves below. He found himself making more frequent trips to Harvey to bandage and stitch up his wounds. It got to the point where he joked to Harvey about a frequent flyer’s discount, which earned him a concerned frown.

The upside to these treacherous adventures was that he was finally able to upgrade his tools with Clint and get to clearing some of the more hefty debris on the farm. Each day that passed, Marshall seemed to distance himself from the horrors of his past life. The only remnants that remained were the occasional night terrors that would leave Amelia bristling and meowing urgently at him.

His engrossment in the mines meant he had accidentally missed the Egg Festival. He felt guilty for missing it, and even more so when Lewis knocked on his door to make sure he was okay. He had also been using his newfound materials to fill out the Community Center. In fact, since Mayor Lewis had introduced the Community Center as a rival to JojaMart, Marshall felt a personal fire of determination to make sure he did everything in his power to see the Center through. Even if the strange wizard had very likely drugged him.

Today was a scorching day and Marshall found himself in a slump that he didn’t anticipate. Surely, he was doing good enough now that he didn’t have to be swarmed by the old, heavy emotions of the past? He conveniently had been ignoring his aversion to looking at himself in the mirror. He also neglected to acknowledge that Amelia was the only household member to be regularly eating, recently; and Marshall’s wallet wasn’t the culprit.

He sighed in front of his television set, with his head in his hands as the narrator for “Living off the Land” droned on about something he was too indifferent to tune into. He had just forced himself to shower after even Amelia had begun opting to sleep on the floor. His wet hair dripped onto the forest-green shirt lying forgotten in his lap. He let his mind drift and of course it drifted to Shane. Just the icing on the cake. It occurred to him that he didn’t even know where Shane lived or anything about Shane, really.

He groaned, deciding he’d had enough lamenting, as he got up and put his shirt on. Locking the door behind him, he made up his mind that he would start looking into a chicken coop today. Maybe he would be more inclined to eat if his food were fresh. As he trekked up to Robin’s house, the only sounds were his and Amelia’s footsteps, and the singing of the birds.

-

Having had more than enough materials and money, Marshall happily agreed to let Robin build a simple chicken coop for him. Suddenly, he realized he needed to do a lot of research on how to care for a chicken. He figured the best place to start would be the library. As he strolled through town, carrying his cat in the crook of his left arm, he spotted a blonde girl approaching him. Haley, he thinks her name is?

“Hi Marshall!” she chirped. He could’ve sworn she was batting her eyelashes at him. She had a camera dangling from her neck, one of those pricey ones with the thick strap. “I’m practicing my photography, can I take a picture of you?” Marshall was taken aback when she grabbed his free hand to playfully swing it back and forth. _Have I ever talked to this girl?_ He pondered.

“Oh, ah, yeah sure,” he mumbled. She grinned from ear to ear before dropping his hand and stepping back. She raised the camera to her face and squinted a bit.

“Ohh, your cat is _sooo_ cute,” she drawled, with a flirtatious lilt. “And the owner isn’t half bad either.” Marshall was officially uncomfortable now, silently praying she would just take the picture already. “Okay, say cheese!” Marshall only had half a second to smile before the bright flash hit his eyes and he heard the generic camera clicking sound. She skipped back up to him and swiveled the camera around so he could see the screen. “Here, look,” she demanded, flipping to the most recent capture. Marshall saw his own pitifully thin frame and awkward smile and couldn’t help but wince. Haley didn’t notice, thankfully, enraptured by her own work. “Aren’t I _good_?”

“Erm yeah, it’s great,” he forced himself to smile. She looked up at him with half-lidded eyes before standing on her tiptoes and pecking him on the cheek. Before Marshall could even react, she was making her escape, giggling like a schoolgirl. With a look of confusion, he and Amelia headed to the library. Unbeknownst to Marshall, a third person had accidentally witnessed the latter part of the exchange and if Marshall had gazed just a little to the right, he might’ve caught a flash of purple receding back into the woods.

-S-

Shane had just wanted to get a frozen pizza from Pierre’s. The past several days, he had tried not to spend too much time looking for the farmer in the Saloon. He forced himself to stop looking up when the bell jingled. The Egg Festival came and went, leaving Shane with an annoying emptiness when the farmer didn’t show. Luckily, Jas helped remedy some of that. He smiled fondly at her while she rambled on and on about how she was going to win the egg hunt this year. He consoled her when Abigail won yet another year in a row, silently cursing that they wouldn’t do a separate hunt for the little kids.

When he emerged into town, he stopped dead in his tracks. Haley and the farmer were huddled close, looking at Haley’s camera. She laughed at something and he smiled at her. To Shane’s shock, Haley craned her neck and kissed Marshall before running off. Shane instantly turned around and left.

 _It shouldn’t matter,_ Shane told himself angrily. _It’s not like you like the guy. Even if you did, who would go for someone like you? Someone who drowns himself in beer and pity? Someone who can’t even look after his goddaughter? Someone who couldn’t even protect his goddaughter’s parents?_

That last one hurt so much, he squeezed his eyes shut and felt tears prick at them. He should’ve known that closing his eyes made it so much easier for his brain to imagine him somewhere else. He saw the steering wheel in his hands again. Heard the music flowing through the speakers. Heard their laughter.

Shane let out a strangled cry as he opened his eyes. Despite the vivid images melting away to reality, he choked back a sob as the emotions remained.

“I deserved to die instead of them,” he heard himself whisper to the trees. He opened the door to Marnie’s house and made a beeline toward the fridge for the case of beer he kept stashed in the back. Locking the door to his room behind him, he also dragged out the case that he hid under his bed. He didn’t bother with slow, tonight. Even with his tolerance, he got himself drunk within the hour.

He wasn’t going to stop until he was either too numb to feel anything, or face-to-face with his friends again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter covers the four-heart event!


	9. Guilt: The Gift That Keeps on Giving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize how short this chapter was! So... what if I push out two tonight.. (;

After hitting the books at the library, Marshall figured he should pay a visit to Marnie to get some first-hand knowledge. While he carried her through town and into the forest, Amelia began squirming. He let her down to run off and explore. Sometimes she gets restless but, like clockwork, she always shows back up around bedtime. Marshall paused, staring fondly after her while she vanished through the trees. He stepped up to Marnie’s porch and gently knocked on the door.

He gasped in shock when the door swung open to reveal a frazzled Marnie. “Oh, thank God! Please help, Shane isn’t waking up.” Marshall’s head spun.

 _Shane? Here?_ It occurred to Marshall that _this_ was where Shane lived. Was Shane her son? He didn’t have time to ponder much more as Marnie grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the house. She pulled him into Shane’s doorway and Marshall made a small whimpering noise as he saw the man sprawled out on the ground, drool connecting his face to the floor, and crumpled beer cans littered all around him. He looked to Marnie and gingerly approached Shane.

He had no medical background of any sort, so he did the only thing he could think of. He checked for a pulse. He almost cried in relief when he felt one. It was weak, but it was there. Thinking quickly, he pulled out his watering can that he’d used earlier and dumped its contents onto Shane’s head. He instantly jumped back when Shane thrashed with a start.

“Wh-! Wha fuck!” he slurred drunkenly. At the yelling, Marshall felt his familiar defenses raise themselves and he stood stock still with an unreadable expression, looking just over Shane instead of directly at him. Luckily, Shane’s anger was overshadowed by Marnie’s overwhelmed scolding.

“Shane what is the matter with you? All you ever do is hole up in your room and drink beer all day!” Shane scoffed unkindly and Marnie must’ve taken that as her cue to continue. “I mean, what about your plans? Your future?” Marshall knew it was silly to say, but he found a sick amusement in the way Marnie threw her hands up to emphasize her point; because _of course_ Shane has plans. Everyone has plans. In Marnie’s world, there’s no concept of not dreaming of your flowery future.

Marshall didn’t _know_ Shane’s life, but he had a cold suspicion that Shane did not fit in Marnie’s world. Marshall just wished Shane could’ve chosen his next words better.

“Hopefully, I won’t be around long enough to need a plan,” Shane mumbled miserably. Marshall jumped a little as he heard a small sob behind him. He turned to see that Jas – Marnie’s niece, he’d learned – had crept in while no one was looking and caught the worst part of the conversation. Shane and Marnie turned to look, too, and Marnie threw Shane a glare before running after the child.

That left just him and Shane in the room, and Marshall knew that Shane would snap at him any moment now unless he stopped standing there like a gargoyle. He was shocked when Shane spoke.

“I’m sorry... I fucked up,” the man sobbed into his hands. Marshall wasted no time closing the gap between them.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Marshall put a strong hand on his back, and another cupped Shane’s elbow as he guided the man to stand up. Shane didn’t fight him, still sobbing while Marshall led him into the hall. Thankfully, he didn’t have to search too hard for the bathroom. When he flicked the light on, he turned to Shane and was about to say something when the shorter man paled instantly and broke out of Marshall’s grasp to lunge for the toilet and empty the contents of his stomach into it.

Marshall’s nose wrinkled at the bridge as his own stomach turned. As Shane flushed, he groaned, the noise reverberating in the bowl.

“You probably think I’m gross,” Shane mumbled to the toilet water. “And pathetic, and a pig, and-” Marshall heard Shane’s breath hitch again as a fresh round of sobs shook his body. Marshall’s heart ached once again as he stepped into the bathroom and sat behind Shane, rubbing circles into his back.

“No, I think you’re painfully human,” he replied, almost too soft to hear. Shane must’ve heard it, though, as his sobs ebbed away and his back rose and fell with even breaths. He slowly sat up and leaned over to turn on the shower.

“That’s the corniest damn thing you ever said to me, Marsh. Now either join me or get out,” Shane said with a sad smile threatening to curl his lips.

“Invite me again when you haven’t just vomited,” Marshall gently bantered back. He saw Shane’s cheeks get their color back and he stood to leave. Just before he stepped out, Shane spoke again.

“Thanks,” was all Shane seemed to be able to say. Marshall hummed a comforting noise in reply as he slowly shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I have crippling emetophobia. Literally smut is easier to write than that shit. *shudder*


	10. Opening Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't keep warning about this topic after this but - man this is where the thick of Marshall's battle with the eating disorder begins as he goes back and forth with it throughout. Please consider your own mental health before plunging onward.

It was mid-summer and Robin had just finished the coop, leaving Marshall thrilled to fill it. Over the past few days, he’d been grilling Marnie, Shane, and the library on everything to do with raising chickens. As he got up and turned on the shower, he decided he was going to go to Marnie’s place and finally seal the deal. As it was a Saturday, he found himself hoping Shane would be there, too.

It was at the point that Marshall finally let himself admit that he had feelings for Shane. Since the incident in his room, Shane seemed to be less harsh toward him in general. A lot of talks with Shane about the chickens ended up having a bit of flirting sprinkled in. He relished the way he would sometimes catch Shane looking at him with those green eyes slightly darker than their normal hue, color radiating from his cheeks, coy tongue dancing out to wet his lips—

Marshall was torn from his thoughts to a stirring in his groin.

“Absolutely not,” he chastised his body, hastily turning the knob so that the water was ice cold. After his shower, he quickly got dressed, fed Amelia, and headed out. He didn’t get very far before she bounded ahead of him, racing toward the southern exit. As he walked, he noticed with some discomfort that his shirt was hanging off him more loosely than usual. He sighed and forced his attention to redirect on cute chickens.

He knocked on Marnie’s door, hoping it would open normally this time. To his relief, the red wood parted from its frame gently to reveal Marnie with a beaming grin.

“Come in, come in!” she ushered, closing the door behind him. “I sure hope you’re here for the chickens?” Her eyes lighting up at Marshall’s delighted nod. “Oh wonderful! How many were you thinking?”

As they talked pricing, Marshall settled on two chickens so that they could keep each other company. Marnie explained that she would have Shane drop off the chicks later, as he was the one who was best at getting them settled in.

“Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?” Marshall said in response. Marnie’s brow furrowed for a minute.

“Oh! Well, I guess but Shane’s my nephew, not my son. Jas is his goddaughter, but we call her my niece as well,” she explained casually. Somehow, this setup left Marshall with more questions than answers. He decided it wasn’t necessarily his business, though.

“All right, well, tell Shane to come over whenever with the chickens!” He turned to leave.

“Oh, and Marshall?” He turned as Marnie’s smile turned softer and her gaze grew more serious. “Thank you for everything you do for Shane... it might be silly of me to say but,” she stammered briefly before finding her wording, “well he seems to really like you and you’re a good influence on him.” Marshall’s cheeks were suddenly burning and he awkwardly chuckled as he made his exit.

 _Good influence?_ he thought to himself. He put a large hand on his stomach, watching as the material of his now baggy shirt caved in. _I don’t know about that._

-S-

Shane panted slightly as he stepped onto the farm with the two chicks in their carrier. It wasn’t like he didn’t walk often, but maybe the beer was catching up to him. He stole a glance at the slight bulge of his belly and grimaced. When he looked up, he spotted Marshall in the distance, kneeling in the dirt. Shane found himself feeling warmer in the face upon realizing the farmer was shirtless. The sun beat down on his back, his muscles rippling as he pulled some crop from the grip of the soil. Shane curiously noticed that Marshall seemed thinner, as well. When he was close enough for Marshall to hear his footsteps, he fought to still his expression when the tall boy turned and Shane thought he could see his rib cage.

Marshall stood there, having what seemed to be a mini panic attack for reasons that Shane could probably guess in the first three tries.

“A-ah, sorry! Marnie didn’t say exactly when you were coming. Give me a moment!” Marshall rushed into his house and came back a moment later with a baggy shirt. Shane painfully decided it wasn’t his business, so he pretended he didn’t notice. Instead, he smiled and gestured to the carrier.

“Let’s go put your chicks in the coop.”

-M-

 _You’re such an idiot. What if he tells someone? What if he starts asking questions? You knew he was going to be here, yet you took the risk anyway. You’re a complete mor-_ Marshall’s internal dialogue was interrupted as Shane motioned for him to open the coop door, since his hands were full. Marshall shook his head briskly to break up the intrusive thoughts as he stepped beside him and let him in.

He had already laid out hay in the feed trough as well as hay scattered around the floor for the chicks to nest in.

“It looks great,” Shane said approvingly, before crouching down to put the carrier on the ground. Marshall bit his lip, watching Shane bend like that and he sidestepped his way into the coop so he wouldn’t feel so creepy.

Shane lifted both chicks from the box and Marshall’s face lit up as Shane handed them to him. They were incredibly soft as they chirped up at him curiously. Each were big enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and he used his thumbs to stroke them. He looked up and caught Shane giving him a look that stirred something in his chest.

“What should I name them?” Marshall wondered out loud.

“I dunno, they’re your chicks,” Shane replied with a chuckle. Marshall stared at the chicks again, thinking hard.

“How about... Butter,” he gestured by lifting the chick in his left hand. “And Popcorn,” he gestured to the right chick. He looked at Shane, who immediately erupted into laughter. Marshall feigned offense, holding his new chickens a little closer.

“Holy shit, maybe I should have named them before coming,” Shane’s face split in a wide grin. It was nice to see Shane smile like that. Marshall thought he could die happy if he got to see that smile more often.

“What? I’m not good at naming animals,” he protested.

“You did good with Amelia,” Shane countered.

“Yeah well, she was named after someone so it doesn’t count.”

“Oh?” Shane’s smile slowly fell as Marshall’s did. _Why not?_ Marshall thought. With that, he dove into the story of his estranged friend. When he revealed his abusive parent’s secret at the end, he watched Shane’s expression darken. Marshall chewed his bottom lip anxiously. “No kid deserves shitty parents,” he mumbled. Marshall relaxed a bit, and sat down, inviting Shane to do the same.

“Yeah, I guess I wasn’t dealt a very good hand from the beginning,” Marshall said. He expected that to be the end of it, but Shane looked at him with a gentle curiosity that would normally irk Marshall but ended up prying apart some of his initial defenses. “Being mistreated for so long has landed me some nasty habits.” At this, Shane huffed in agreement.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he said, patting his beer belly. He instantly regretted the gesture, as Marshall’s eyes instinctively went to his own stomach, grimacing. “Hey Marsh?” the soft tone told Marshall what was coming, and he steeled himself for it. Frankly, it was time; and if it were going to be anyone, he would rather it be Shane. “When’s the last time you ate?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! Softies!


	11. It's Not a Competition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... it's worth mentioning that Shane's character (in my head) is abrasive as usual, but also isn't *as* tough of a nut to crack as I've seen him in other fics. The Shane in my mind is abrasive and cruel because he believes he doesn't deserve the time of day - but when someone offers to give him just that, he finds himself giving up to it.

Marshall’s teeth held his lip painfully hostage as he stared at the slice of pizza on his plate like it would rear up and hiss at him. Shane was pretending not to notice as he tore into his own slice, but Marshall felt the other man’s knee pressing reassuringly against his own underneath the table.

Marshall’s thoughts were a dark whirlwind of self-deprecation and doubt. Emotion seemed to be held higher than logic in these moments, and rationale became a useless weapon. Therefore, Marshall found himself eternally grateful that Shane wasn’t attempting to “talk sense” into him. In fact, Marshall caught himself staring at the older man as his eyes were glued to the gridball game on Gus’s television screen. Shane suddenly yelled triumphantly, pumping a fist into the air to celebrate a score. Marshall flinched before he could catch himself, but luckily Shane didn’t seem to notice it. He wondered bitterly if his knee-jerk reaction would ever fade. Sometimes he felt like one of those pitiful dogs stuck in a cage at a shelter, refusing to do anything but cower and whine.

He eventually sighed, picking up his slice and taking a small bite. He turned to see that Shane’s eyes were now on him. A sloppy grin that should have annoyed Marshall with its implications ended up doing the exact opposite, to his surprise. Shane made everything so unpredictable, and Marshall wasn’t sure how to cope with that.

He smiled back at Shane as he chewed his bite, swallowing before quirking a brow challengingly.

“What? Got something to say?” he teased, watching Shane softly chuckle and shake his head.

“Nah, you’re just cute,” Shane said under his breath. Marshall saw Shane’s eyes widen a bit, as if that thought were supposed to have stayed in his head. Marshall burned crimson and his cheeks almost hurt with how wide his smile was. This seemed to relieve Shane from the embarrassment of his unintentional slip.

“Pizza and flirting... are you trying to court me, Shane?” Marshall teased, his peridot eyes glittering with mischief. His tone was a low rumble, and he saw that gaze return on Shane’s face – the one that makes him have to adjust his shower temperature. It wasn’t anger, no. It was something else that Marshall dared not be too bold to put a finger on.

“And if I am?” came the equally low and sultry reply. Marshall felt a hand on his knee, squeezing softly and suddenly all of his resolve melted into the barstool and his pants felt a size too small. He heard his breath hitch and knew that Shane must’ve heard it, too. He decided to match Shane’s stare with a heated one of his own. He had a sudden and overwhelming urge to lunge across the miniscule distance and feel those smirking lips crash against his own. In fact, Marshall could swear that their faces were inching closer, like someone had looped a thread around their heads and was cranking it taut.

Marshall jumped when he heard two mugs of beer clank on the table in front of them. He looked up to see the most smug look on Emily that he’d ever seen as she slid their drinks over without a word. Shane swiveled in his stool to face the bar again, clearing his throat. Though the moment was gone, the air was still thick like stepping outside after a heavy rain.

Marshall took another bite of his pizza and chased it with a swig of beer to try and cool down his still red face.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Marshall entered lamely. Too much of his brain was still foggy to come in with a better opener. He felt Shane tense, and silently cursed himself for being so blunt.

“What do you mean?” was the slightly gruff reply. Marshall felt his shoulders lift into a shrug.

“Well, up until a couple days ago, I thought you were Marnie’s son,” he admitted softly.

“Wait, seriously?” Shane’s laughter put him at ease, as Marshall relaxed muscles he hadn’t realized he was tensing. Shane must have realized the farmer was dead serious, as a fresh round of laughter jostled his body, making Marshall’s head swim in the way it did that night on the pier. Shane’s laughter ebbed to controlled giggles as he continued. “Well... okay to start, I’m her _nephew_ ,” he corrected, teasingly.

“Yes, I got Marnie to tell me that much. She also told me Jas is your goddaughter,” Marshall rambled, noticing that Shane was suddenly cold and rigid beside him. Had he accidentally struck a nerve? Did he say something wrong? _What have you fucked up this time?_ his ever-present inner tormentor piped up.

“Why are you talking to Marnie about me?” Shane asked, with a defensive edge to his voice.

“I-I wasn’t,” Marshall sputtered. “I... we were just chatting the day I bought Butter and Popcorn and—” he was interrupted by a snort from the older man and he turned to see Shane’s shoulders trembling with barely contained laughter. God, he’d never seen Shane laugh so much in one sitting and the warmth blossoming in his chest rivaled Gus’s highest quality liquor.

“Those poor fucking chickens,” Shane finally wheezed. Marshall let out a partially annoyed huff and crossed his arms defensively over his body. “Do me a favor,” Shane continued, when he was able to reign himself in, “and don’t go prying information out of other people. You can come to me.” Out of everything charming about the shorter man, the reemerging condescension grated on Marshall relentlessly.

“Then _tell me something._ ” Marshall’s tone carried more annoyance than he’d have liked, but he wasn’t fond of the way Shane assumed he was intentionally grilling people behind his back. He was even more frustrated with the way Shane seemed to keep wiggling around the topic of himself. He turned to lock eyes with Shane and the sadness pooling in those emerald green eyes made all of the agitation drain from Marshall’s features and body language.

Shane stared back at him, and Marshall realized Shane was also quite drunk at this point. Shane’s reply came out as a hoarse whisper.

“Okay,” he cleared his throat softly into the curve of his fist. “But only if you finish that slice.” Marshall felt himself rolling his eyes. He didn’t like ultimatums one bit, but he supposed this one didn’t carry the malice he was truly opposed to. He indignantly shoved the near three-quarters of the slice that was left into his mouth at once, wincing as he chewed. When he swallowed, he groaned and put a protective hand over his angry stomach. “Shit, you’ll make yourself sick,” the older man worried.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Marshall shot him a pained smile. “Now uphold your end.” Shane sighed like someone had dropped a boulder between his shoulder blades, and Marshall felt a flash of doubt. Perhaps Shane wasn’t truly ready to tell him anything, yet. Perhaps he was pushing the man too far. He opened his mouth to apologize and reassure Shane that he wasn’t required to say anything, when Shane began anyway.

“Yeah, Marnie’s my aunt by blood and Jas is my goddaughter. Jas’s parents... my best friends,” Shane choked on that last word, and the farmer felt that new branch of pain he’d discovered at the pier twist around his heart.

“You don’t have-“ Marshall blurted, without thinking.

“Shut up,” Shane growled, with more anger toward the difficulty of the conversation than toward the interruption. “Let me finish.” Marshall quietly gazed at the sliver of table space between them as Shane finished the rest of his beer in one long gulp. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Shane close his eyes and let out a guttural groan as a single tear slid down his cheek before he hastily wiped it. “My best friends were in my car. We were going to see our favorite band _Corrosion_ play live at the Zuzu Theatre,” Shane paused to emit a watery chuckle, and Marshall dared to glance at the painfully dreamy look that clouded underneath the gloss of alcohol in his eyes. “We were listening to their songs on the way there. Julie sat in my passenger seat, and Frank was in the back. They’d gotten a babysitter for Jas so the whole night was ours.” Shane’s voice cracked again, but he cleared his throat with a rough determination and marched on. “It was only eight or so, but it was winter so it was dark as fuck...” Marshall’s breath caught in his throat, suddenly realizing where this was going. “Have you ever driven in the black of night, Marshy?” his voice was a fragile whisper as Shane turned and Marshall realized he’d been staring. Shane didn’t seem to care, though. His red and puffy gaze was miles away from the bar. His rhetorical question was answered with an intense stare, and Shane’s lips trembled as he continued, almost too quiet to hear. “You can’t even see out your side windows. Anything could come out from the woods and”—he hiccupped painfully—“and you wouldn’t even know until it was kissing your door.” Shane’s inhale was long and trembling. Around them, the loud and jovial bar covered the pure juxtaposition of a conversation that was happening mere feet away. Marshall couldn’t care less about the rest of the bar, though. All he could focus on was the tragedy unfolding in the next barstool over.

“Sometimes I wish it had just been something that came out of the woods,” Shane continued, solemnly. “Maybe it would have been easier to blame a fucking buck,” the bitterness in his voice carried an implication that made Marshall want to close his eyes in pain. But he had to be an unwavering anchor for Shane right now. “If I’ve learned anything, though, it’s that life will never give you the easy way. We were cresting a hill, just on the outskirts of the city,” he made an incline gesture with his hand. “The roads were so narrow and it was _so dark_ ,” his voice squeezed the words angrily. “But when you’re young, you think you’re invincible. Nothing bad can happen to you at twenty-five. We were all belting out the lyrics to some fucking chart-topper and Frank would interrupt with a stupid ass pun that’d make us laugh until our sides hurt...” Shane sobbed loud enough to turn a few heads, and Shane buried his face in his hands as his body shook violently with the force of them.

Marshall instinctively wrapped an arm around Shane and pulled him closer, not caring if he was supposed to be an unimposing listener. Shane didn’t protest, however, and he actually leaned further into Marshall as he cried into his palms.

“I only took my eyes off the road for one se”—he hiccupped again—“second. _Just one fucking second!”_ his voice became shrill with agony. Marshall rubbed circles into his back like he did that day on Shane’s bathroom floor. Only this time instead of bile and beer, Shane was vomiting excruciating trauma and his soaked hands were the toilet bowl. “When I looked back, all I saw were headlights.” Shane let out a harsh laugh that was devoid of humor. “Did you know time actually _does_ seem to slow down in car accidents? I always thought it was a stupid cliché,” he lifted his face from his hands and Marshall lifted his head from Shane’s shoulder and was making a move to give Shane space, but he felt Shane’s strong hand grip his elbow; a silent beg to keep him grounded. “The other person didn’t survive either. Toxicology ended up showing he was drunk off his ass. But when you’re forced to wait forty-five minutes for an ambulance to cart away three people robbed of life... soaked in your efforts to frantically save your two closest friends... well you find you don’t really give a shit about fault.”

Shane’s final sigh was the heaviest and most exhausted noise that Marshall had ever heard.

-S-

His heart felt like a lifeless lump in his chest. He couldn’t drag the energy to assess exactly what he was feeling, but he did know that he liked the feeling of Marshall quietly draped over him. He hadn’t expected to tell so much tonight – so much gut-wrenching detail. But with Marshall it seemed that Shane couldn’t help but pour as much into the taller boy as he could. It was strange and if you’d told Shane even a few days ago that this would happen, he would’ve given you a hearty ‘fuck off’ and sent you on your way. However, something about the way Marshall carried his agony in striking similarity to his own had caused him to wiggle through Shane’s defenses like a sleuth, his brain marking the farmer as safe.

Shane steeled himself for a moment before turning to lock eyes with Marshall. He was expecting pity or even anger, as Shane knew that it was only a matter of time before he found those in the farmer’s eyes.

However, all Shane found in that gaze that he’d grown to become quite fond of was a heavy despair tinged with understanding. Shane also could’ve sworn he saw admiration in there. _Oh god,_ he groaned internally. _He better not be one of those ‘you’re so brave’ people._

“I didn’t think you trusted me that much,” came the farmer’s soft reply. Shane made a light scoff, taken aback by the unpredicted response, struck with a realization that he’d mistaken wonder for shallow admiration. Shane felt a tug in his chest at Marshall’s words, but he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t weird for him as well.

“Yeah well don’t make me regret it,” he began with a light tease before his head and his voice dropped. “But if it makes you see me differently, I unders-“ he was interrupted by Marshall gently gripping him by the shoulders and swiveling them until they were face to face. Shane couldn’t help but wince a little under the intensity of the farmer’s gaze.

“I will never judge you, you hear? _Never,_ ” he shook Shane’s shoulders lightly for emphasis. He covered his blush with a defensive eye roll and opened his mouth to say something snarky when Marshall pulled him into a strong hug. He felt Marshall’s left arm snaking over his shoulder to curl around his upper back, while his other arm pulled Shane against him by the waist. Shane’s arms hung limply by his sides in shock for a minute before he wordlessly wrapped his arms around the farmer in return.

They clung to each other like a drowning man to a life raft, which was almost reflective of what they were to each other. Except both men were simultaneously drowning and trying in vain to be a savior. Shane felt Marshall bury his face in his neck, and he inhaled sharply as the alcohol decided his sorrow could be stocked back on the shelf in favor of his libido.

“Nothing you could tell me could change my opinion of you, Shane. I don’t doubt you have a parasite that lives inside you, telling you how awful of a person you are,” Shane’s heart’s pace quickened at the simple way his words struck home. “But let me tell you a secret,” he whispered into Shane’s ear, making him shudder. “Truly awful people wouldn’t _give_ a shit if they were awful.”

Something deep in Shane’s core lit up for a tender moment, and Shane suddenly squeezed the farmer closer, as if he wanted to melt into the other boy’s body. He squeezed his eyes shut so tight that he saw stars, as he tangled a hand in that impossibly soft black hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the next three agonizing chapters, we'll be diving into the biggest angst arc of the fic. I do promise to make it worth your while, though, dear reader


	12. The Waters Get Rougher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of warning for this chapter and next: lots of mention of Marshall's past parental abuse but also his past non-con experience. As always, I implore you to put your own mental health above all else.

Marshall bolted upright, as a scream tore through his body. He was drenched in sweat and Amelia had long run off. The images of his night terror still burned in front of him as he sat panting and trying to come back down to Earth. He heard his mom’s screams of anger and felt his dad’s calloused hand wrapped around his throat. He instinctively touched his cold fingertips to his neck, as if expecting to find a hand still clamped there.

He finally calmed down enough to check his phone for the time: 4am. He groaned, knowing hell would sooner freeze over before he’d risk falling into another horror-filled dream.

Today was going to be a long day.

-

Since that long night at the bar with Shane a few days ago, Marshall had promised him he would try to eat more. Shane brought him fresh eggs. _Until your chicks start producing, at least,_ Shane had reasoned against Marshall’s uncomfortable gaze. He hated feeling like a charity case, but he also knew he needed help and Shane was probably the only person he would accept help from right now. In turn, Marshall tried to work with Shane on cutting down on some of the alcohol. Easier said than done, Marshall soon realized. He wasn’t going to push Shane too far, though. He knew that too much too fast would do more harm than good.

As he worked on the farm, his stomach growled. He was about to go inside to heat up the rest of the omelet he cooked for breakfast, when his night terror from earlier flashed through his mind.

 _If you keep sneaking down in the middle of the night to pig out on your father and I’s hard-earned food, you’ll surely live up to your name, Marshmallow,_ he heard his mother’s mocking tone spit the nickname at him in disgust. He couldn’t recall exactly when her words along with his father’s fists had knocked a crucial switch off in his mind. All he knew was that he was still running from them. Some days he felt like he would always be running in the way a hamster sprints on a squeaky wheel.

When his stomach growled again, he ignored it and angrily swung his hoe in the soil, preparing to harvest a fresh batch of cranberries to finish off the season. The Dance of the Moonlight Jellies was tonight, so Marshall wanted to get everything finished in time.

-

After a shower and another ignored set of stomach growls, Marshall pulled on a sky-blue sweater and comfortable black joggers. As he was brushing his hair and reapplying deodorant, Amelia jumped on the bathroom counter, meowing expectantly at him. He laughed softly and stroked her, scratching at the spot at the base of her tail that always made her purr.

“What? You eager to go see some jellyfish?” he cooed. He bent his knees and leaned toward the counter, offering his shoulder to his best friend as she eagerly jumped and nestled around his neck.

The pair headed out, Marshall locking the door behind them. He sometimes wondered aloud why he even bothered to lock up. It wasn’t like anyone would break in. He convinced himself it was for Amelia’s safety, more than his own.

He turned, depositing his keys in his pocket, and carried Amelia with him to the beach. The walk was amazingly peaceful, as most townsfolk were already there and the night was quiet except for the gentle call of the crickets and frogs.

When he stepped onto the beach, the soft sand crunched under his sneakers, and Marshall couldn’t help but smile fondly as he gazed at the people around him. He was quickly flagged down by Lewis.

“Marshall!” the jovial man nearly sang. “So glad you could join us. Have you heard of the jellies?”

“Erm, yeah I’ve seen jellyfish before,” Marshall replied. Lewis threw his head back and laughed as if Marshall had delivered the best punchline of the night.

“No, my dear farmer! The jellies are quite different. Every year at the end of summer, these incredibly rare species of exuberant creatures migrate South toward warmer waters. This species has higher levels of luciferin than you see in your average jellyfish, which makes their bright glow absolutely enchanting.” As Lewis gushed on, Marshall took a fondness in the delighted wrinkles that framed the old man’s eyes.

Marshall found it hard to see how anyone could resist being excited after that delivery. He found himself beaming right back at the mayor.

“Well, when are they supposed to turn up?” he asked. Lewis then dug into a tote bag nestled beside him and pulled out a small wooden boat with a candle glued on top. Marshall found an inexplicable comfort in the simplicity of it all.

“When it gets late enough”—Lewis paused to glance at the sky—“which it actually should be soon, we will light this boat and send it sailing North. It never fails to draw the migrating jellies in our direction,” he finished in a hushed whisper, as if it were a hundred-year-old family recipe that he was sharing.

“I can’t wait,” Marshall replied simply. Lewis beamed with pride before ushering him to go mingle amongst the other “youngsters of the town.” Marshall talked to a few more people while he ambled around the beach. Emily told him his aura was off, which he found weird and intrusive, but brushed off with a joke about not getting enough sleep (which wasn’t exactly a lie). Pam was already drunk and greeted him with a bellowing laugh and a rough clap on his back that made Amelia readjust on his shoulders in annoyance. Elliott shared his advancements on his novel and Marshall found himself enthralled with the wisdom in the ginger recluse’s eyes.

Marshall noticed very quickly, though, that Shane was nowhere to be found. He felt a frustrating amount of sadness at this; but tried not to let it seep into his face or body language. He was listening to Elliott ramble about his newest chapter, when the writer paused, the suddenly empty air drawing Marshall’s gaze to lock with Elliott’s.

“You know, you look at lot like how I imagine the protagonist,” Elliott said softly. Marshall was so lost in his head he hadn’t realize how close Elliott had gotten. They were sitting on the edge of the pier with their legs dangling over, the farmer’s long legs making his sneakers skim the water. Up until this moment, Marshall had regarded Elliott with silent wonder and admiration. He had been completely oblivious to the subtle advances. “Though your eyes are a far superior color,” Elliott continued slowly, flicking his eyes between Marshall’s own with an innocent curiosity. “Yours also tell a far deeper story. One that can’t be simply written on an inked page,” the other man was whispering now, and Marshall felt the first blossoms of panic in his chest as he realized this could go places Marshall certainly did not want if he didn’t find a way to simmer this interaction.

“Attention all of my lovely townsfolk!” To his eternal gratefulness, the sound of Mayor Lewis’s voice shattered whatever atmosphere Elliott had been crafting, as they both whipped their heads toward the man. “My heart always swells with pride to see your faces gathered before me tonight to celebrate the annual Dance of the Moonlight Jellies!” He paused as people cheered and clapped. “The time has come to light our candle boat and invite our mystical friends to dance with us on their journey.” With his eloquent – yet obviously rehearsed – introduction, he bent to place the boat in the water, holding it still as he kissed the candle’s wick with his lighter.

The small boat rocked softly as it glided North with the current, the flame of the candle casting a hopeful wake of light. Marshall held his breath and felt Elliott’s fingers creep in between his and the writer held his hand and a thigh pressed flush against his own. Marshall’s stomach burned with discomfort as he fought to voice that he wasn’t okay with this. His thoughts were again interrupted when Elliott gasped next to him. His head shot up to catch a brilliant glow slowly approaching the pier. One glow turned into two, turned into five, turned into dozens, as the rare blue jellies floated toward the town. You could’ve heard a pin drop on the beach that night.

Every single person was consumed in an enthralled hush, except for one distraught man who hung just out of sight, focusing on anything but the ocean and its contents.

“Look! Look it’s the super rare green jelly!” Marshall heard a small girl cry out in excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The launch of angst is so painful sometimes... but isn't it so sweet when it lands?


	13. The Waves Get Taller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever attended a live symphony? One where the orchestra swells and the conductor waves their arms in a frenzy as the music seems to fill every nook and cranny of the room? Those moments remind me of the intense waves of a stormy sea; the ocean swells just like music. I like to think this chapter can be compared to that caliber of intensity.

Morris had kept him well past close that night, forcing him to stock for the annual Fall Sale that began tomorrow. Shane groaned as he lifted what felt like the 500th box that evening over his head.

 _What is this, buy one brick get three free sale?_ he thought bitterly to himself. He almost dropped the box when he heard Morris’s shrill voice behind him.

“God, you work slower than a tortoise,” he spat at his employee. “You must love staying late. Well I don’t give overtime pay to slackers! Pick up the pace!” With this, Morris pushed past him roughly, causing Shane to bump into the shelf and knock over a few jugs of juice, which unfortunately burst on impact. His boss’s resulting screech was enough to drive away any wildlife within a five-mile radius. Shane squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, temples bulging at the sides of his head.

“ _You worthless klutz! That’s coming out of your paycheck!”_ the small man shrieked. _“Clean that mess up and then get out of my store!”_ As Morris stomped away, Shane felt a thick mixture of sadness and anger wash over him. He remembered what Marshall said at the bar – about Shane having a parasite within him that constantly berated him and told him how abhorrent he was. As he got on his hands and knees, wiping up the spilled juice, Shane solemnly considered the possibility that his parasite could manifest itself into a human form wearing a JojaMart manager’s shirt.

-

Shane didn’t even have time to change out of his wretched uniform as he trudged to the beach. He felt a heavy despair at having to be late to this event. The Dance of the Moonlight Jellies was by far his favorite of all the town’s stupid little festivals – next to Spirit’s Eve, perhaps. He mostly liked this night for the way Jas would stare in wide-eyed wonder at the luminous jellyfish. He found her pure, unadulterated excitement much more refreshing than any ale that Emily could slide over to him. When she caught her god-dad staring at her with love, she would roll her eyes with a giggle and say something along the lines of _“No, Uncle Shane, the jellies are over_ there,” while pointing her finger. She had started to call him dad when he first started caring for her, but he quickly corrected it to Uncle. Just didn’t feel right.

Shane had been smiling gently at his feet as he walked, lost in his thoughts. The sound and sight of his worn shoes hitting the sand brought him back to the present, and he looked up in time to catch Lewis’s speech before the old man lit the candle boat and sent it sailing. Shane felt a bit better that he hadn’t completely missed it, but the sadness came back tenfold when his eyes dropped to the scene at the end of the pier.

He saw the farmer’s long silhouette nestled way too close to that annoyingly chatty writer, Elliott. It looked like their faces had just been close and Shane felt like his stomach was hurtling down an elevator shaft, his heart sailing closely behind. What came next was anger, and Shane quickly stood out of sight as he watched Elliott’s hand grab Marshall’s. Surely the farmer would pull away? Surely this was a misunderstanding? He remembered the day he saw Haley kiss the farmer in the town plaza while Marshall stood motionless.

 _This is no ‘misunderstanding’,_ Shane’s thoughts hissed at him. _The only misunderstanding was when you believed for a second that you had a chance with him._ Shane had finally admitted to himself that he did indeed have feelings for the handsome, weathered farmer. He’d finally admitted to searching for his tall frame in the crowds at the Saloon. He’d even finally admitted that he had been dangerously close to capturing those full lips with his own on several occasions. Shane thought he saw Marshall reflecting those feelings in fleeting gazes he thought Shane didn't catch. Shane thought-

 _You thought wrong,_ his parasite screamed at him. _If you were to choose between a gentle, inquisitive, and successful writer or a blubbering, pathetic drunk, you would be draped around Elliott as well. Don’t kid yourself, Shane._ _This was as inevitable as your descent to the bottom of the social ladder._ He suddenly heard Jas’s voice call out in the silence to announce that she spotted her favorite green jelly. But to Shane, that voice was only a reminder that no one in his life cared about the town drunk.

Shane could admit a lot of things to himself about the farmer. What Shane wasn’t ready to admit, though, was how carelessly he had bared his vulnerabilities to him - practically mapping out the chinks in his armor for the man. Or how he had been hiding beer behind Marshall’s back.

-M-

When the jellies had disappeared behind them, Marshall wrenched his hand out of Elliott’s grasp - perhaps with more force than necessary. He was a ball of anxiety at this point and couldn’t even bear to look back at Elliott’s curious gaze before briskly walking toward the exit of the beach, ignoring any of his fellow townsfolk’s farewell attempts.

When he left the beach, he ran toward the small strip of neighborhood where Haley’s and Jodi’s family lived. Bending to put his hands on his knees, Marshall hyperventilated as he became immersed in flashbacks. It wasn’t Elliott’s fault, not in the slightest. The poor man couldn’t have known the farmer’s demons. All the same, his brain's synapses crackled and sparked like a scorching bonfire as he felt Gretchen’s hands on his throat as she held him down, making stomach-turning noises of pleasure as her bare frame rose and fell like an angry tide and—

Marshall’s flashback was cut short as he rushed to the nearest garbage can and painted the inside with his trauma. Since he hadn’t eaten in a while, everything that came up burned like shitty liquor, and he sobbed pitifully. He felt small pricks of mild pain on his calf and turned to see Amelia clawing at his leg and meowing anxiously. He forced his breathing to slow as he took his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face. He looked down at the mess he’d made in Haley and Emily’s trashcan, and groaned with guilt. Luckily, he spotted Jodi’s garden hose nearby.

After washing away his shame, Marshall put the lid back on the can and put it back in its place. He missed Shane, he thought numbly. His shoulders were crumpled as he walked, Amelia alongside him.

Entering the forest, his eyes were downcast as he passed Marnie’s ranch. He glanced toward the door, wondering again why Shane hadn’t showed up to the festival. Maybe it would've been easier to gently skirt around the writer's advances if he'd had that grounding green gaze to steady his flimsy sailboat of a resolve. As if Marshall’s thoughts had been an audible call, the door slammed open and an incredibly intoxicated Shane stumbled out into the night, sending a startled Amelia scampering toward the farm. Marnie and Jas hadn’t returned from the festival yet, but Marshall knew it wouldn’t be long before they did.

“Mars’all!” Shane slurred, spreading his arms sloppily and almost spilling the beer clutched in his right hand. Marshall's shock as he processed the man before him quickly shattered and he felt his blood boil. Shane had missed the festival to get _drunk?_ Marshall had been worrying about him only for him to get _plastered_ when he had been doing so _good_ lately. Marshall’s nostrils flared and he selfishly thought that he must know what Marnie feels like now.

“You’re shitfaced,” Marshall nearly spat. Shane’s arms dropped as his expression instantly hardened. Marshall shivered violently in the warm summer night.

“Hey t’you too, ss’hole,” Shane glowered at him and even in the dark, Marshall saw as his fist curled and crumpled the beer can, spilling the meager contents into the grass.

“You said you wouldn’t let yourself drink this much again,” Marshall knew Shane had no obligation to him. He knew this wasn’t the proper way to approach a man with an addiction, but Marshall’s brain was on fire still from earlier and all he could feel was pain. A pain reflected in the man across the lawn. The dazzling moonlight glittered over Shane’s red, puffy eyes as well as his tear-stained cheeks and uncoordinated lips.

“I’d a shitty day, I ‘zerve a beer or two,” Shane shot back indignantly, unable to keep from swaying on the spot.

“Appears you’ve had more like seven!” Marshall was crossing the line. His blossoming attraction to Shane drove his fundamentally calm defense out the window, and he was left with a burning desire to fix Shane like an antique toy. It wouldn’t be until morning when Marshall would confront this unhealthy mindset. But morning was not _now,_ and _now_ sizzled like the flames in his head, as he stubbornly claimed that it was _his_ fault that Shane couldn’t even stand upright. It was _his_ fault that beer was his only reliable ally. By adopting Shane’s responsibility as his own, Marshall had unknowingly stepped into that detrimental savior complex that he’d always hated in others.

“Fugg you, dick ‘ead! You wan’ talk bad habits?” Shane nearly screamed at him, a sound that pierced Marshall’s heart. “Wha’ you fuggin eat t’day, huh?” Marshall hadn’t noticed that the pair of them had been gradually advancing on each other until they were toe to toe, faces contorted in a level of anger that only mutual, destructive attraction can conjure.

“Don’t you dare,” Marshall’s voice was low and dripping with rage, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to weaponize that against me.” The hypocrisy was lost on the farmer. The deep rumble that once brought butterflies to Shane’s stomach now brought an uncomfortable fear. Marshall saw Shane’s fists tighten even harder and he was half expecting Shane to hit him. He found himself almost wishing he would; maybe then his mind would finally be forced to lock into the present.

“Get Elliott to help you, then. Or maybe even Haley!” Marshall hadn’t even noticed Shane’s slurring had disappeared as his anger melted into confusion.

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“Don’t play dumb with me, I saw how you were with Elliott tonight. How you let Haley kiss you!” Shane’s voice increased in volume again. “You think I’m _blind,_ Marshall?” The farmer felt tears springing into his eyes, his insides splintering like rotted wood. So _that's_ why Shane was drowning himself in alcohol? How could he even begin to explain to Shane the fear that gripped him in both situations? How could he show Shane the countless panic attacks and sleepless nights and bed sheets stained with his piercing wails?

“N-no it’s not like that!” Marshall stammered, struggling to keep his voice even. Damn his pathetically flailing brain. Damn his jack-hammering heart. Damn it all. “Y-you don’t fucking understand what you’re talking about Shane!” A harsh lash of laughter was Shane’s reply.

“That’s what it sure fucking _looked_ like! Look, I know you think I’m some stupid and pathetic wino, but I wasn’t born yesterday. If you want to fuck the whole town, then be my guest but don’t expect me to wait—” Marshall saw red. He forcefully shoved Shane backwards. Shane, still incredibly intoxicated, lost his footing and fell on his ass in the grass, a startled yelp escaping his lips.

“ _You think you know what you see, but you don’t!”_ Marshall screamed, unaware that Marnie and Jas were entering the forest. Both stopped dead in their tracks, as Marnie ushered Jas back into town quickly, telling her she could have a sleepover with Vincent tonight. The young girl understood that it wasn’t time to argue and she rushed back into town. “ _If you would stop to think for **one goddamned second** maybe you’d realize that perhaps the reason I freeze up is because I can’t say no!” _Marshall had squeezed his eyes shut, but if they’d been open, he would’ve seen Shane propped on his arms, all of the anger previously in his face replaced by guilt and fear of the words he knew were coming next.

“ _Since ‘no’ hasn’t done me a bit of good in the past!”_ Marshall’s entire body was trembling violently as tears streaked down his cheeks - dark waves crashing on a desolate beach. He couldn’t bear to see the look Shane might have on his face, so he didn’t look.

Instead, he stormed back to his farm, every ounce of his being aching. That night was riddled with night terrors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an amateur at best, but I really want to drive a stake into the heart of the obnoxious "Savior Complex." I'm determined to give my boys a realistic and healthy relationship as they learn how to heal from the mountains of shit they've been faced with.


	14. The Sea Swallows the Boat Whole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, friends. Trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Details of past suicide attempt  
> \- Suicidal ideation

His throat was hoarse by the third cry that jerked him from his pitiful sleep. Marshall’s tears and sweat soiled his sheets and he knew Amelia would be anywhere except his bedroom. He angrily threw the covers off himself, still sobbing, and trudged into the bathroom. He kept the light off - he didn’t want to see the gaunt face that stared back at him. He turned on the shower in the dark bathroom and climbed into the tub, sitting under the warm stream with his knees tucked to his bare chest.

-

A knock at his door jerked the farmer awake. He cursed at the ice-cold flow of water that poured down his back as he hastily shut off the shower. Throwing on a simple long sleeve shirt and pajama pants, he opened the door to see a very anxious Marnie.

“H-hey, Marshall,” she wrung her hands roughly. “I-I can’t find Shane. I know you two got into it pretty bad last night but... “ she chewed her bottom lip as tears spilled over her cheeks. “Well I just thought you might know—” he interrupted her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll find him,” he said softly. He was still livid, but he was also no fool. Before he’d drifted unconscious in the bathtub, his cruel mind had forced him to replay his altercation with Shane until his emotions had completely numbed like a short-circuited cable. He realized there were a lot of ways in which both his and Shane’s precursory circumstances of miscommunication had destroyed any semblance of clarity. It was doomed before Marshall even stepped foot onto the ranch. But this territory was frighteningly foreign for him. Marshall hadn’t met someone who had simply resonated with him in the way that Shane did; and each unpredictable response or unanticipated twinge of emotion that the gruffy man elicited from him only proved to the farmer that whatever they’d been haphazardly cultivating was worth saving.

Plus, the whole farming gig had made him really good at salvaging withered sprouts of growth.

He only hoped Shane could still look in him the eyes.

Marnie let out a sob and wrapped her short frame around him, hugging him tightly.

“Oh, bless you!” She broke the embrace to look up at him with watery eyes. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, Marshall, but I know that Shane cares about you somethin’ fierce.” Marshall felt his chest tighten, another blindingly cold wave of emotion washing over him. “He has a bad way of showin’ it, but I hope you two can talk it out.” He nodded at her and that seemed enough to put her at ease. That was when he looked beyond her and noticed it was raining, and _hard_.

“Okay, I’m gonna get my coat and I’ll be right out.” Marshall stopped mid-turn when he saw Marnie wringing her hands again. Then she started sobbing loudly as she cradled her face in her palms.

“Oh, you’re going to think I’m such a terrible aunt, but I can’t leave the ranch! Dolly, my cow, is s’pposed to give birth today and Jas is sick as a dog with the flu and—” Once again, Marshall calmed her with a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“I understand. Go back home, I’ll find him,” he repeated. She nodded and turned toward her ranch, head bent against the wind. Marshall quickly threw on a raincoat and told Amelia to stay, as he closed and locked the door behind him. With a deep breath, he ran north.

-

After searching for over an hour, Marshall approached the cliffs below the southern forest. The rain made an object glint in Marshall’s peripheral vision, and he felt his heart-rate pick up as he identified the object as a beer can. He raced to the edge of the cliff and uttered a broken cry when he saw Shane’s figure sprawled in the wet grass, surrounded by beer. A leg and an arm hung dangerously over the lip of rocks. For a few agonizing moments, it seemed that all the sounds around him were swallowed by the downpour. All he could see was _rain,_ all he could smell or taste or feel was _fucking **rain**_. It was like he’d been dunked underwater, even sputtering as he inhaled heavy droplets when he opened his mouth to yell.

“ _Shane!”_ he choked out into the storm, running over to the unconscious man. He dropped to the ground and hauled him from the edge as he put two fingers against the side of Shane’s neck to feel for a pulse. He couldn’t help but connect the painful similarity between this and that day in Shane’s bedroom. It was a miracle, but he felt a pulse feebly tap back against the pads of his trembling fingers.

The farmer made a loud, ugly sobbing sound as he dragged Shane’s upper body into his lap and cradled him. He repeatedly shook Shane’s shoulder, yelling out his name. Finally, the drunken man’s eyes fluttered open and he made a noise that was somewhere between a burp and a groan, the putrid smell of alcohol and despair reaching Marshall’s nose. Regardless, he cried out in relief and hugged Shane closer.

“M-M... Marshy?” Shane’s weak voice barely sounded over the ocean that the clouds had been harboring. He looked so out of it but seemed to possess enough energy to continue talking. “Marsh... all I do is eat, drink and sleep t—“ Shane paused as the waves of exhaustion crashed over him again. “to numb the feelings of self-hatred.” Marshall broke at his words. “I’m too small and stupid to take control of my life. Tell me, Marsh... tell me why I shouldn’t roll off these cliffs right now,” Shane hiccuped before breaking into fresh sobs. Marshall tightened his grip around the man, as if he’d jump up and do the deed in front of the farmer otherwise. He rocked Shane back and forth on his lap as he began to be unable to distinguish the rain from his own tears.

“I’ve been here before, Shane,” he confessed. “at the edge of my own cliff.” He saw Shane’s seasick eyes lock onto his own to connect their mutual pain to an overwhelming crescendo. “I was tired of the constant flashbacks. I was tired of the never-ending duel with my weight. I was just so damn _tired._ One night I snapped. Nothing had even fucking happened; it was just like someone had cut the last thread that kept me tethered. I took everything in my medicine cabinet and chased it with a fifth of vodka,” his voice trembled. It occurred to Marshall that he hadn’t even told the professionals on the ward the details he was spilling into the sea right now. Shane sniffled, lips trembling. “But when I came to in that hospital bed, Shane, I regretted ever jumping.” Marshall shook his head in wide arcs as a soft whine singed the back of his throat. “We said some awful things to each other last night.” He saw Shane’s eyelids droop with the weight of last night’s memory. “I’m _sorry.”_

“I’m s—” Shane tried, but Marshall interrupted, not yet done.

“I know, baby. I know,” he whispered, fresh tears flowing again. The pet name he’d let slip unknowingly made Shane warm and Marshall thought he saw Shane’s lips stop trembling. “We can’t fix each other, Shane. We weren’t slotted together by some romanticized fate where we yank each other back to shore.” Marshall stroked Shane’s soaked hair as Shane turned his head to bury himself against Marshall’s abdomen like a scared child. “But I do know,” Marshall continued, “that if you rolled off these cliffs, not a day would go by that I wouldn’t wish I had done something more. Despite that, you should never live for anyone but yourself. We both have a lot of shit to work through, but we can’t base our self-worth off one another. Or else we will keep trading places on these cliffs.”

Shane looked up and stared with an endless intensity, gradually soaking in the words. Marshall hoped Shane got something out of his panicked rambling as his shoulders sagged with an exhaustion that could rival the depths of the ocean floor. He was at least thankful that he’d been able to get his late-night thoughts out through his lips correctly.

“I... don’t think anyone has ever put it so clearly to me before.” Shane whispered. “Marshy? I think you should take me to the hospital now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting Chapter 15 tonight (a.k.a. the hospital chapter), as well, after realizing it's only roughly 700 words and it would be a bit unfair to post a length discrepancy that large tomorrow.


	15. Battered, But Not Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smooth sailing from here, folks! ...For now

The rhythmic beeping was what initially welcomed Shane back into the land of the living. The bright lights overhead made him squint, as his head quickly began to throb in protest. It was then that he heard the light snoring. Turning his head, he saw a wild mess of black hair that could only belong to the source of his racing heart. The farmer clung to Shane’s arm like the man would drift away otherwise. Through the pain in his head and the uneasy churning in his stomach, a small smile curled at Shane’s lips as he watched Marshall sleep. He gently wiggled his arm in an attempt to rouse the other boy.

“Marshy... Marshall... hey,” he whispered softly. Shane’s smile widened at the pitiful groan that sounded from him before tired, gray-green eyes locked with his own. “Hey, that doesn’t look terribly comfortable...” Shane shifted to the far side of his bed, capturing his bottom lip nervously between his teeth. “Wanna come up?”

Marshall blushed, blatant under the fluorescent light, and nodded slowly. He unfurled from his crumpled posture and stretched upwards like a cat, yawning. Shane couldn’t help but notice the slice of skin left exposed between the hem of his shirt and his pajama pants. _Pajamas?_ Shane thought to himself. Marshall must’ve caught the curious crinkle in his nose, as his gaze followed Shane’s to his attire.

“Oh, guess I never changed,” Marshall shrugged, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. With that, he lifted the thin white hospital blankets and crawled in next to Shane, who quickly snuggled into the farmer’s warm chest, making a contented noise at the back of his throat. Shane had almost closed his eyes when the harsh sound of a cleared throat cut through the air.

“Those beds are typically made for _one_ patient,” Doctor Harvey entered with a smirk. He made no legitimate move to separate them, however, as he pulled up a rolling stool and flipped through Shane’s patient chart that was pinned to his clipboard. “All right, Shane, I sense you appreciate bluntness, so I’ll spare you the niceties.” Shane felt himself wanting to burrow further into Marshall. He could feel the farmer’s heartbeat, and he let the rhythm keep his own in check. “If our fine farmer here hadn’t found you, you might not have made it back home.” The words twisted painfully in his gut and he heard Marshall take a pained breath. “Your dependency on alcohol is not one that will last you much longer. Our labs show that your liver is already showing beginning signs of long-term damage and surely your mental health isn’t fairing much better.”

Shane thought he should be angry at the doctor’s words; but it was true – he preferred this over the sickly-sweet tiptoeing. He reached to grab a business card that Harvey was holding out to him.

“There’s no one in the valley well enough equipped to give you the level of mental health service you deserve. I do have a client in the city, however, who would be more than happy to take you in. Please consider giving her a ring.” Shane nodded soundlessly at the doctor, with a small smile. Harvey then turned to Marshall. “If you have duties on the farm to take care of, rest assured we will keep a close eye on him.” Shane’s head – still ducked into Marshall’s chest – bobbed a bit with the force of the farmer whipping his head back and forth.

“No, Marnie told me she has me covered for today. I... I think I’ll stay here,” Marshall’s deep voice vibrated against his newly red cheeks.

“Fair enough, though it is my obligation to inform you that these walls are paper thin so... behave,” the doctor said with another smirk before clicking the door shut behind him. Shane turned his face upwards to see his own blush reflected in Marshall’s cheeks. The taller boy dropped his gaze downward to connect with Shane’s and the two men immediately erupted into laughter, tears kissing the corners of their eyes.

“Yeah Shane, you better behave,” Marshall wheezed as they broke eye contact and resumed their previous cuddling position. Shane chuckled into his shirt.

“You’re the mischievous one here,” he retorted, hearing the rumble of laughter coming from Marshall.

The pair bantered lazily back and forth for a few more minutes before falling into a deep sleep. Just south of the clinic, playful waves soothed over the tousled sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's chapters (yeah, I'm double-posting tomorrow, too; I can't help myself) are going to give the explicit rating a glaring purpose. Just warnin' ya... (;


	16. It Gets Easier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY!!! *sobs* I didn't post last night because I got suuuper sick with what must've been a touch of food poisoning? Who knows. Anyways - I'm better now! As promised, here is chapter 16 and 17. 16 ends with smut and all of chapter 17 is just smut. Look, it's vulgar. This entire fic has run on passionate emotions - the sex should equate. This is my first time writing something nsfw, nevermind something THIS nsfw. Hope it's okay...

Marshall felt Shane’s head bouncing on his shoulder as the bus bumped along the road into the city. Their hands were linked and Shane was lightly dozing through the journey. He’d invited the farmer to a gridball game for his favorite team, the Tunnellers. With the excitement that shone in Shane’s eyes and the exaggerated animation in his hands, how could he resist? Marshall figured it didn’t matter much whether he knew jack-shit about the sport or not.

The bus came to a screeching halt, a sound that instantly made Shane jolt awake with a loud yelp, free arm swiping blindly for the ghosts of his friends.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Marshall soothed, turning Shane’s face towards his and away from the concerned stares of nearby passengers. “You’re here. We’re here,” he pointed out the window. “at the game.” He felt Shane flush with embarrassment but pulled him up by the hand before the shorter man could attempt to apologize. They were both giggling like teenagers by the time they’d stepped off the bus.

-

As Marshall had suspected, it didn’t really matter if he knew anything about the sport in front of him. Balancing his hot dog – which Shane subtly made sure he purchased and finished – and his drink in his lap, Marshall’s smile was painted on his face the entire time. Occasionally, Shane would jump up suddenly with a shout, making Marshall wince a little. Shane noticed this time and looked at him worriedly.

“Oh, you’re fine... just a bad history with yelling and... loud noises,” Marshall mumbled, bashfully.

“Oh shit, my bad,” Shane bit his lip. “I’ll quiet down a bit,” earning an instant violent head shake from his companion.

“No, no, it’s f—”

“Marshy, don’t worry,” Shane chuckled. Then, to Marshall’s stunned surprise, Shane pecked him on the cheek. He instantly saw Shane’s eyes widen, as if he had acted on pure impulse – which was probably what it was. Though the two had flirted heavily and even unintentionally gotten each other a tad riled up, they’d never kissed or put labels on anything. For the sake of each other’s sanity, they had been letting things blossom at their own pace.

“Fuck s-sorry, Marshall, I-I wasn’t even think—” Marshall interrupted Shane’s panicked diatribe by grabbing him by the stubbly cheeks and crushing their mouths together. They moved in a stunned synchrony, and Marshall parted his lips when he felt Shane’s tongue grazing them. As their kiss deepened, Marshall’s anxiety around public affection started to creep up, and Shane must have sensed this as he pulled away, lips deliciously swollen. “I think we should take this somewhere else,” he husked. That _damned_ look was back in Shane’s eyes – only this time he was comfortable enough to pinpoint it: lust. He knew the same look was in his, too, but he bit his lip nervously.

“I don’t wanna make you miss your game,” he almost whined. In response, Shane barely brushed his lips against Marshall’s in the most tender kiss he’d ever been given. It made his knees weak and his blood flow south.

“There are about a hundred other things I want to do right now,” Shane growled, “and all of them are you.” Marshall couldn’t contain the small moan that slipped from his mouth. Suddenly, Shane’s tone shifted slightly, as brief worry crossed his face. “If... if that’s okay with you, I mean,” Marshall melted at the consideration, but couldn’t help teasing his partner a bit.

“Well now you better,” he purred with a smirk.

“The noises you make drive me crazy,” Shane groaned as he shot up and yanked Marshall with him. They laughed and ran to catch the next bus.

-

The two men had great difficulty keeping their hands to themselves on the bus ride back to town, nervously fidgeting and urging the bus to go quicker. When their stop finally came, they flew off hand-in-hand. When they got to the farmhouse, Marshall spun Shane around and pinned him to his front door as he peppered his face with breathless kisses. With Shane caged between him and the wooden frame, Marshall pulled out his keys and craned his neck around to fiddle with the lock. Shane took this opportunity to kiss and bite at the farmer’s neck, who unashamedly moaned into the empty land.

They crashed through the front door, giggling. Amelia trotted out the open door as Marshall stooped down to give her a welcoming stroke before closing the door behind her and making sure the cat flap was unlocked. Standing back up, Shane squeezed his hand and looked at Marshall with a concentrated gaze.

“Are you absolutely sure?” he whispered. “We can stop whenever you want,” he promised, splaying his free hand against the tall man’s broad chest. Marshall hummed deep in the back of his throat and nodded.

“I’m very sure. Are you?” Shane responded by connecting their lips together once more, and the pair stumbled backward until Marshall felt his back thud against a wall. He felt Shane’s lips disconnect. “Oh shit, sorry,” Shane mumbled, giggling. Marshall laughed and kissed him with an open and eager mouth, sliding his tongue against Shane’s. Suddenly, Marshall felt Shane’s thigh press against the bulge in his jeans and a low moan flew from his mouth as he tipped his head up and ground his hips for friction. Shane left open-mouthed kisses down his jawline before attaching to the hollow between Marshall’s throat and collarbone, sucking the spot roughly.

“Oh _fuck,_ Shane,” he cried, reaching around to grab a handful of Shane’s ass and pull their bodies closer. This time it was Shane’s turn to groan in pleasure, feeling those strong fingers kneading his flesh. He grabbed the hem of Marshall’s shirt and yanked it over his head swiftly.

“God, you’re gorgeous, Marshy,” he heard Shane tenderly whisper. His skin broke out in goosebumps as feather-light touches stroked down his torso. He squirmed desperately at the minimal contact, shamelessly dry-humping Shane’s thigh.

“Shane...” he panted. “Please... I need your mouth... somewhere... anywhere,” the last word was a pitiful whine that would’ve made Marshall want to sink into the ground under any other circumstances. Marshall felt Shane pull his thigh away, and almost wanted to sob at the cold air that replaced it. When he opened his eyes, he saw Shane’s half-lidded gaze and his playful smirk. Swiftly, he felt Shane’s hand curl around his clothed crotch, thumb rubbing back and forth over his pulsing shaft like the hand of a metronome. The back of his head hit the wall as the made the most lewd noise yet.

“Fuck... you’re huge, aren’t you?” he heard Shane whisper, feeling that wonderfully warm hand squeeze him rhythmically as his hips bucked violently in response.

“Stop _teasing,_ asshole,” Marshall begged. Shane chuckled and withdrew his hand to remove his own shirt. Instantly, Marshall pounced, spinning them around and holding a surprised Shane against the wall as he quickly lowered his mouth to a nipple and began to suck and bite at it. Shane’s moans filled the cabin and Marshall felt a hardness grind against him. He searched those hips blindly with his hand until he caught hold of the tent in Shane’s jeans.

“Marshy, _please_ ,” the plead made Marshall smirk at how quickly the tables could turn.

“Seems I’m not the only one who’s eager,” he teased, dropping fully to his knees. He made eye contact with Shane as his hands drifted downward over his soft belly. Marshall caught the instinctive shame flash in Shane’s deep green gaze as the other boy became conscious of his shape. Marshall made sure to spread his hands all over his slightly fuzzy torso. “Your body is such a fucking turn on for me, Shane,” he purred. Shane bit his lip seductively as the worry vanished like smoke. “Let me show you...” the farmer said slowly, earning a soft whimper of acquiescence.

Marshall let his right-hand cup that tantalizing bulge again, while his left worked Shane’s belt buckle, then pants button, then zipper. He pulled Shane’s pants and boxers down in one tug, licking his lips as seven inches of erection came to greet him. He hummed in appreciation as he circled his hands around his lover’s shaft, the veins pulsing fiercely against his fingers.

“My god, how’re your hands so fucking _soft_?” Shane moaned, fighting the urge to throw his head back or close his eyes. Marshall and Shane both wanted to look at each other for the entirety of this journey of exploring each other on the most intimate of levels.

Marshall kept his blinks slow and seductive as he puckered his lips and gave the tip of Shane’s cock a loving kiss. Shane began to pant harder, and Marshall felt a hand tangling in his hair. It didn’t push or demand, it just caressed.

Marshall stuck his tongue out to lick the pre-cum that had gathered at the tip before wrapping his lips around the head and gently suckling. Shane couldn’t help how his hips bucked wildly into Marshall’s mouth, and Marshall felt himself making involuntary noises of pleasure in the back of his throat, making Shane inhale sharply in ecstasy.

Finally, Marshall opened his mouth wide and began to take Shane’s length in, making sure his tongue was bathing the bottom of the delicious cock that threatened to invade his tonsils. In truth, Marshall had only been with one other man before, and they hadn’t had the kind of chemistry that would make him inclined to try deepthroating. He had experimented with... other objects, however, and was fairly confident that he could show Shane his secretly cultivated skills.

The farmer’s gaze was intensely locked onto Shane’s as his throat opened to accept the spongy head. He couldn’t get enough of the way Shane’s nose crinkled and his brow pulled together with the force of his moaning, which was growing more high pitched. When Marshall’s nose hit his underbelly, he used his left hand to cup the warm, heavy ball sack that was close to spilling its contents into his tight throat. At the same time that he felt Shane’s balls tighten, he watched those gorgeous green eyes flood with mild panic.

“M-Marshall... I’m gonna... “ he panted, trying to warn him. Marshall nodded knowingly and hummed a reassuring noise. The vibrations sizzling down his shaft were what threw Shane over the edge, as his other hand tangled at the back of Marshall’s head and he let out a guttural cry, involuntarily humping the farmer’s mouth. Marshall was on cloud nine as he heard the earth-shattering noises that Shane was making for him. He didn’t mind the hair grabbing and the pumping against his chin. Truth be told, he liked it a little rough as long as it didn’t involve hands choking him.

He felt Shane’s cockhead swell in his throat and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt warm, salty cum spray down the back of his tongue. He gulped around the flesh in his mouth, determined to make his throat muscles massage the tip and milk Shane completely dry. Eventually, the stimulation became too much as Shane pulled his soaked dick out of Marshall’s mouth and pulled him up into a sloppy kiss. Shane’s tongue flooded past his lips, desperate to taste himself.

Marshall’s knees were weakening and he realized he couldn’t stand much longer. He pulled away from the kiss, noting the string of desperation that connected between them.

“Let’s continue this in the bedroom,” he grunted, feeling his own cock straining to escape the confines of his jeans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whewwww...


	17. Or Does it Get Harder...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's... just smut. I can't stress enough how dirty it is. But then fluff at the very end!

Shane pushed the farmer on the bed, immediately dropping down on his elbows to hover over him, his eyes still clouded in a post-orgasmic bliss. The farmer’s hips rolled, begging for contact. Shane pressed their crotches together with a smirk, feeling his cock already twitching again.

“You have too many clothes on,” Shane growled, making quick work of Marshall’s pants. Stripping his lover of the last remnants of his clothing, Shane’s breath hitched. _Oh, my fucking god, I was right,_ he thought in a daze. The tall boy must’ve been at least 9 inches and plenty thick around.

“Like what you see?” he heard Marshall tease. “You have no idea how many times I’ve stroked myself to the memory of you looking at me like you are right now,” the farmer’s voice was hoarse and dripping with need. He gasped when Shane wrapped a confident hand around his shaft and began pumping in slow, loving strokes.

“Looking at you how?” Shane heard himself banter. Marshall looked at him with that mind-numbingly intense gaze again.

“Like you want to eat me,” he husked, drawing a soft whimper from Shane. Shane looked back down at the warm cock pulsing and leaking into his fist and he made a decision.

“Actually, Marshy... I-I think I want you to fuck me,” he bit his lip, a sudden wave of shyness consuming him. He saw the farmer quirk a brow.

“You think or you know?” came the gentle and cautious reply. Shane realized the implications of his hesitant wording and decided to crush all doubt by leaning over him and lowering his mouth to his ear. He heard Marshall’s breathing stutter. He spoke slowly, so that each syllable rolled around his mouth before escaping his lips.

“I want your _cock_ in my _ass._ ” To emphasize, Shane gave the boy’s groin another gentle squeeze as he nipped at his earlobe. Marshall bucked wildly upwards, and Shane felt a fresh dribble of pre-cum snake down the back of his curled fingers. God, he could never get tired of watching the farmer becoming unraveled underneath him. Marshall used an incredible amount of strength to flip them over, still rutting into Shane’s hand.

“Well when you ask so _nicely,_ ” he groaned. He straightened up, impossibly hard erection bobbing in front of him. He dug around in his nightstand and fished out a condom and a bottle of lube, turning back to Shane, who smirked.

“You came prepared, huh?” Shane bit his lip as Marshall stroked himself, advancing toward the bed again.

“In all honesty, I’ve been dreaming of this since the night on the pier when I caught you watching me.” Marshall’s hand kept a slow pace, in direct contrast to his eagerly leaking cockhead. “I couldn’t stop thinking about all the different faces I could cause you to make.” Shane was at full mast again as he squirmed against the farmer’s sheets. Marshall tossed the lube and condom on the bed as he closed the gap. Shane gasped as his legs were lifted up to his head. “Hold these,” the deep voice said casually. Shane gripped his legs behind his knees and held himself in place, his own dick bobbing at him.

He felt utterly exposed, but he wholeheartedly trusted Marshall. As soon as he felt those large hands opening him, he threw his head back in anticipation, seeing his own purple locks dancing across his vision.

“Stunning,” he heard Marshall whisper, the hot breath against his sensitive skin making him whimper. He nearly cried out when he felt a determined tongue circle and dip into his hole. Marshall’s name fell from his lips over and over and over in a litany of unbridled pleasure. Marshall soon replaced his tongue with a finger, moaning as Shane squeezed around it.

“Fuck, you’re so tight...” the farmer commented as he curled his finger. He bumped Shane’s prostate with the tip of his digit and began massaging it.

“Fuck, fuck, shit! Shit, Marshy. More... give me more,” he pleaded desperately. Marshall immediately added a second, shuffling them back and forth inside Shane. He squirmed, clutching the bedsheets between his white-knuckled fingers. “I need”—he panted, trying to catch his breath—“I need you inside me. _Now,”_ he demanded, urgently. When Marshall removed his fingers, he withered at the loss. He felt something cold on his warm skin, and sucked in a breath, realizing Marshall’s skilled fingers were massaging the lube into him. Marshall then reached for the condom, but Shane suddenly put a hand on his arm to stop him. “A-actually... I... well I’m clean...” He heard Marshall laugh.

“I know, I just tasted,” the farmer said with a seductive swipe of his tongue across his lips. Shane blushed but also huffed in frustration.

“No, I mean... if you’re clean, too, maybe we could...” Shane watched realization hit Marshall’s eyes. He prepared for disgust but was only met with gentle curiosity.

“You’re sure?” he confirmed, drawing back his hand. Shane nodded, biting his lower lip. Marshall’s eyes curled into a devilish smirk as he abandoned the condom for the lube bottle. This time he coated his thick cock generously, before lining himself up and leaning over Shane.

All at once, the mood shifted. The once animalistic desperation and aching was replaced by something else. Shane and Marshall locked eyes, Marshall’s throbbing tip poking at Shane’s prepared entrance, and Shane saw the farmer’s features melt into something inexplicably warm and comforting. Drowning in that gaze, Shane felt the same innocent intoxication he used to feel as a kid on Christmas morning. Or when he curled up under a fuzzy blanket during an unforgiving winter. Shane hoped his gaze reflected those feelings back, because he could dare say that what he saw was _love._

“Let me know if I need to stop or slow down,” Marshall mumbled softly. Shane felt a great pressure as the gorgeous man’s cock slowly parted him. He let out an elongated moan that held a twinge of pain, and his nails rose up to rake down the farmer’s muscular back. Marshall growled delightfully at the slight sting and accidentally rutted forward a bit. Shane’s mouth fell open in a silent ‘O’ and the momentary pain was quickly replaced by an intense pleasure that made Shane’s eyes roll back and his entire body shudder. “Look at me, Shane.” He opened his eyes. “I want to see your face when I bury myself in you.”

The dirty talk was Shane’s kryptonite, as he let loose a string of expletives interlaced with the farmer’s name. He felt Marshall’s pelvis against him, and he realized Marshall was fully in now. The man couldn’t help but break from Shane’s gaze to throw his head back in bliss. Shane watched as sweat trickled down his throat. He shot up to trace it with his tongue.

“God, Marshy, you fill me up so well... but I need you to _move,_ ” Shane begged. He watched Marshall instantly refocus, slamming them both back down on the bed. He lay flush on top of Shane, their burning skin connecting with invisible electricity. Shane’s lips were swallowed by his lover’s as he felt hips moving into a steady rhythm. Marshall broke the kiss to lock eyes with Shane again, gifting him that incredibly warm embrace of a look as he pumped into him.

“Marrr...” Shane groaned. “Harder. I need you to go _faster_ , Marsh. _Please. Fuck_ me, Marshall.” He heard a growl rip through Marshall’s throat and suddenly, he could feel the farmer slamming into him. Shane couldn’t name whatever noises came out of his perpetually open mouth. He probably couldn’t even tell you his own name at this point. All he could feel was the thick cock that rammed into his sweet spot, and the way Marshall inadvertently stroked his own aching dick with his smooth stomach. “Ugh, mmm, Marshall I’m gonna-“

“Me, too,” came the abrupt answer, followed by a series of eager pants.

“Marshall, fill me up. Holy fuck, I wanna feel you empty yourself into my ass.” Shane didn’t have enough energy to be embarrassed by his vulgarity. Evidently, neither did the farmer, as he swore and promised Shane everything he requested. Just then, Shane felt a hand wrap around his cock and pump it rapidly, matching the rhythm made by Marshall’s hips. He saw stars as he exploded and shot the biggest load he ever had in his life.

Shane felt himself squeeze down on the shaft buried in him, and he felt Marshall’s hips still as they cried out in unison, a choral duet that sang of powerful and long sought-after bliss. Shane felt his inner walls being flooded as he painted his and Marshall’s torsos in his own ejaculate.

It was nearly a full minute before either of them could form a sentence. Marshall collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily. He planted lazy, wet kisses on Shane’s neck and maneuvered them both so they lay in bed. Shane bit his lip harshly as he watched Marshall seductively lick up the cum he’d plastered between them.

“You’re so fucking dirty,” Shane said in a husky whisper, as he dragged the other man’s face up to his for a sloppy kiss.

“Yeah, well you love it,” Marshall rolled his hips against his side, chuckling.

“I love _you,_ ” Shane corrected, without thinking. Immediately, he groaned and closed his eyes. “Oh shit, Marsh, I meant-“ he was interrupted by a gentle laugh and a hand stroking his cheek. He opened his eyes to see that same look Marshall had given him right before he’d penetrated him.

“Shut up, idiot. I love you, too.” Shane’s smile could’ve rivaled the sun. He felt his eyes watering but he didn’t have time to feel ashamed for it, seeing tears in Marshall’s eyes as well.

They fell asleep sweaty and dirty but wrapped in each other’s arms. In the face of a world that had chewed them up and spit them back out, they rekindled a fundamentally tender intimacy that life had evilly swore they would never deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe I am sinning on the internet. Hope you enjoyed.


	18. Just Forget the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, the beginning has another small smut scene (sorry to those who don't enjoy that aspect of fics! I promise I've gotten it semi-out-of-my-system). It ends at the line: “Shut up and warm me up.”  
> After that, there is no more smut in any of the chapters I've been writing thus far (which is 24 btw (; )  
> Thanks for all your beloved feedback!!!! Every comment makes me cheese.

Both men slept well into the day, a fluffy contentment hastily working to repair their sleep deprived minds overnight like a team of busy junimos. It was Shane who stirred first, bright late-morning light washing over his twitching eyelids. Squinting his eyes, he slowly soaked in his surroundings. A dark brown night table with a photo of a young girl, a bottle of some sort of pills, a water bottle, and an alarm clock. On the floor, Shane spotted the farmer’s hastily thrown clothes and smiled softly. Speaking of which – Shane’s attention was drawn to the arm loosely draped over his bare hip. He bit his lip gently and stared in a quiet wonder as the sun’s rays dyed the thick black hair on Marshall’s arms an innocent hue of yellow. His fingertips began hazily tracing over that large, veiny hand and muscular forearm.

His companion must’ve felt these feather-light touches, as Shane began to feel him moving. The shorter man rolled over to face the farmer, who was still indulging in a light doze. In his sleep, Shane heard him groan and the tall boy tightened the arm around Shane’s waist and pulled him flush against his chest, even going so far as to swing a leg over Shane’s lower half to keep him in place.

 _What a fucking teddy bear,_ Shane mused languidly. He buried his face in the soft musk of the farmer’s chest hair and chuckled under his breath. It might’ve been the noise, or it might’ve been the feel of Shane’s breath on his skin, but Shane heard Marshall’s deep purr, deliciously interlaced with sleep.

“Mmm... time’s it?” the farmer mumbled. Shane racked his barely sentient mind for the numbers he’d spotted on the clock minutes before.

“Eleven-something... “ he yawned loudly into Marshall.

“Oh shit... we slept in quite a bit. Do you work?” The worry in his lover’s voice was potent. Shane’s eyes widened in response. _What day is it?_ he thought, mind racing. Then he relaxed with a loud sigh, remembering the gridball game yesterday, which meant today was Sunday.

“No, don’t worry,” his voice partially muffled by skin. “and I would expect to sleep like the dead after getting a pounding like that,” he teased, dirtily. He heard Marshall groan imperceptibly as he pulled Shane to him even tighter, earning an amused huff from Shane. “Sorry, I don’t think we can become Siamese twins, no matter how much you smush me against you.” He instantly regretted teasing when Marshall gently pulled back and sat up to stretch. Shane couldn’t help how his hungry gaze roved over the farmer’s muscular torso. He could still see the hint of ribs, but he knew healing took copious amounts of time and patience. “No,” he whined, drawing out the vowel, “I didn’t mean it. Come back,” he lazily reached for the taller boy.

“We do have to get out of bed at some point, Shane,” came the reply, with a chuckle. A hand ruffled Shane’s hair and he pretended to slap at it feebly.

“Says who?”

“Says the chickens and the crops and the cat and... the shower,” Shane saw Marshall bite his lower lip. Suddenly, he was very bored of the comforter and sheets wrapped around him. “Would you like to join me?” Marshall asked. Shane felt the tip of a finger trace delicately down the middle of his back, starting at his shoulder blades and ending just before the incline towards his rear. He hummed an affirmative noise, beginning to sit up and stretch as well, yawning noisily into the room. He caught Marshall staring and quirked a brow, which the farmer answered with a delicate kiss. He let himself be kissed but wrinkled his nose when it broke apart.

“I have morning breath,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you and every other person,” coupled with another laugh. “Now come on, let’s get in the shower.”

Both men padded naked into Marshall’s bathroom, groaning in unison when the bright light lit up the room and pierced their vision. They simultaneously became aware of the shower and bathtub, which were pitifully small. Shane felt his insecurities about his weight wash over him again in a dull ache.

“We can actually just take turns if you want,” he uttered, unable to keep the disappointed edge out of his voice. Marshall spun around to face him again and seemed to instantly connect the dots. Shane quite literally saw the realization dawn on the man. _How’s he do that?_ he thought numbly. _How’s he just know?_

“Nonsense,” came the smooth reply. The farmer bent to reach under the sink cabinet for two towels. Shane’s cheeks heated up as he stared. Marshall straightened up and tossed the towels by the tub before grabbing Shane’s hand and leading them over. His tall frame bent over again to fiddle with the knob to get the water running from the shower head and adjust the temperature. He turned around too quickly before Shane could pick his gaze up from that adorable rump. The flame in his cheeks returned tenfold. Suddenly, Marshall reached around a gave Shane a light slap on the ass, drawing a yelp from the shorter man. “Quit staring,” he said smugly.

“You dickhead!” Shane laughed loudly. He gently pushed the farmer against the wall and kissed him, planting a firm hand against that hairy chest. When Marshall tipped his head back to let out an aroused purr, Shane moved his hand so his thumb could trace a line downward from the bottom of the farmer’s chin. The pad of his coarse thumb glided over Marshall’s vibrating Adam’s apple. Once it hit the spot below that bump, something between them hardened like a sheet of thick ice. Shane’s hand, in its loving exploration, had been gently cradling the side of Marshall’s neck and part of the man’s throat. Though the caress was innocent, it was apparent that it held an infinitely more sinister connotation for the other boy as his head shot up, eyes wide and wild with a paralyzing fear that Shane painfully recognized in his own mind when he was having flashbacks.

“No throat, no throat, no throat,” Marshall chanted, panicked. Shane ripped himself from the farmer, stumbling a bit with the hastiness of his untangling. He heard himself utter a startled cry and began stammering.

“Fuck! I- sorry! Oh fuck, I’m sorry Marsh. Shit, I-I can... “ But Marshall wordlessly begged him not to ramble himself into a hole, shaking his head violently and putting a shaky finger to his lips. Shane watched uncomfortably as the farmer’s chest heaved up and down. Eventually, steam began to cloud the bathroom, and it seemed to be the seal to Marshall’s return to this plane. That broad chest began pumping slow, even breaths again and he watched his torso twist wordlessly to test the water’s temperature and adjust it slightly. Marshall let out a long sigh, able to speak again but still not entirely calmed.

“Not your fault,” he managed, weakly. “Shit past.” The bluntness was refreshing and he nodded soberly. Marshall’s hand extended towards him and he hesitantly took it in his own. He approached but didn’t quite stand close. “I’m not going to shatter, you adorable idiot. Ground me,” he softly pleaded. Shane wrapped the taller man in his arms, holding him fiercely. He ducked his head slightly so he could press the side of his head to Marshall’s chest again. Truth be told, it was becoming his favorite spot. The erratic heartbeat in his ears gradually slowed to a normal rate. “We better get in before we’re left with cold water,” the sound vibrated against his cheek.

Shane reluctantly disengaged from the embrace and lifted a leg to climb into the tub. His hand laced with Marshall’s, he watched the other boy mimic his motions. The water temperature was perfect, and they faced each other with lopsided grins plastered on their faces.

They washed their hair together, closing eyes under the warm water, exchanging soap across tender palms. When it came to washing bodies, they were gentle and thorough without messing around too much. That is, until Shane was turned around enjoying the farmer’s strong hands rubbing suds into the tired muscles of his back when he suddenly felt a sharp sting on his left cheek, the sound of a slap ringing through the air.

“Hey!” he yelped. He looked over his shoulder and shot a playful glare over at Marshall, who was wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Sorry, I just can’t resist,” Marshall muttered in reply. Shane gasped loudly as strong hands palmed him, groping lewdly and grabbing handfuls of his flesh. “You just have such a sweet ass.” Shane moaned and closed his eyes, pushing back into those needy fingers. Suddenly his eyes shot open, and he peered down at his incredibly hard cock.

“Dammit, Marshall, we were supposed to be getting clean,” he chided, without any real disdain in his voice. He felt Marshall’s chin slide on his shoulder to peer down at his situation, clicking his tongue like a teacher who caught the schoolboy with his pants around his ankles. Shane felt the hands leave his ass before he was gently pushed against the far tub wall. His hands shot out to catch himself, elbows slightly bent. Before he could say anything, a pair of outstretched arms framed his and a heated body pressed into him from behind.

“My bad,” came that delicious husk beside his ear. He shuddered with pleasure as he felt Marshall’s tongue swipe down the shell of his ear. He moaned embarrassingly loud when he felt the farmer’s hand close possessively over his raging cock, while the owner’s own hard length nestled cozily against the crack of his ass. “Guess I owe you an apology,” the voice came again as the hand stroked Shane quickly, with purpose. Shane cursed and cried out Marshall’s name as he rutted desperately into the tight fist. The unison with which Shane’s thrusts met Marshall’s hand while Marshall’s dry humping met Shane’s hips in turn was impeccable. Though Marshall was definitely giving Shane’s pleasure more attention than his own for the time being.

Shane fucked himself into that fist like his life depended on it, loving to feel the warm, slick palm stroke him nearer to the brink. It was Marshall sinking his teeth into the space where his neck ended and his shoulder began to brand him with a bright purple hickey that sent Shane screaming over the edge. Again, his vision sparkled with stars as he shot ropes of thick cum onto the wall in front of him. Marshall’s hand left his spent cock and held his hips in place while he focused rocking his dick between Shane’s heated cheeks, groaning dirtily about how good he felt.

Marshall was no quieter when his own orgasm erupted, coating Shane’s backside in his desperation. Shane slumped against the wall and Marshall slumped over him as both men panted heavily. Just then, Marshall groaned – but with annoyance instead of arousal.

“The water’s cold,” he whined into Shane’s back. Shane laughed and pushed them both under the icy stream. They hissed at the temperature and hastily cleaned themselves, the water erasing any remaining traces of passionately heated skin. They quickly turned the water off, shivering as they eagerly wrapped themselves into their respective towels.

“What was it you said that one day at the bar?” Shane teased, capturing his trembling lip in his teeth, eyes downcast in thought. “’Play stupid games, win stupid prizes’,” he smirked. Marshall pouted indignantly.

“Shut up and warm me up.”

-

It was three in the afternoon before the pair got dressed. Shane blushed furiously as he found himself wrapped in one of Marshall’s baggy hoodies, swimming in the intoxicating scent that was just so undeniably _Marshy._ He watched the taller boy carry out the in-house chores first, throwing their last night’s clothes in the wash (except for Shane’s pants; the farmer’s long legs made all extra pairs too long for Shane to borrow). Shane reluctantly had to go, glancing nervously at the 11 missed calls and 7 worried texts from Marnie. He promised Marshall he’d be back later in the evening if Marshall would have him, a question that was met with a scoff and a teasing look. Everything about it made Shane keep wanting to pinch himself to assure that this was real. To think that someone craved his company, appreciated and wanted his body, and even _loved_ him? He couldn’t admit it to the farmer, but his parasite never rested – promising he’d find a way to fuck it up somehow.

For now, though, he flipped that internal fucker off and let himself be wrapped in the bubble of stupefied bliss. As he stepped onto the porch to leave, the two shared a slow, deep kiss, tongues greeting like old neighbors, fingers tangling in freshly washed hair. They pulled back and Shane saw Marshall lick his lips, a small action that brought so much validation that he truly was wanted. Like Marshall _chased_ the feeling of Shane’s lips. This was all so surreal. Would it ever not be?

“Promise you’ll be back?” Marshall whispered, leaning lazily on the door frame. His boyishly cute grin and desperate question made Shane’s emotions curl in his chest again. He combatted the emotional over stimulation with his usual playful sarcasm that he’d reserved only for the farmer.

“I’ll try my best to remember. Tie a string around my finger, maybe,” he twirled his index digit. Marshall snorted and nudged him on the shoulder to jostle him, which made Shane chuckle, too. They shared one more chaste kiss before Shane turned and descended the porch steps.

“Uh, hey wait- Shane?” The farmer’s voice sounded small all of a sudden. Confused, Shane turned and saw a tender vulnerability eating at Marshall’s features. “Err... I meant to ask you earlier about”—the boy rubbed the back of his neck anxiously—“about what you said last night. Did you... “ Marshall trailed off before huffing slightly and steeling himself to continue. “Did you mean what you said last night? I mean about... about loving me?”

Shane felt himself melt achingly at how soft and open Marshall was in front of him. It made him want to sprint back up the porch steps and kiss him again. In fact, one foot pivoted to do just that. But no, he told himself, he really had to let Marnie lay eyes on him before she sent the S.W.A.T. team or something. For now, he’d have to settle with a verbal reply.

“Of course, Marsh. How could I not?” he asked rhetorically, shoulders shrugging. Marshall tried to gnaw his bottom lip to keep his grin in, but it broke across his face anyways.

“I love you, too, fucker. See you later.” At this, Shane laughed so hard, his head tilted back.

“What a charming send off!” He called out behind him, heading home.

-

Before turning the knob to the front door, he sucked in a big breath and prepared himself. As soon as he walked in, Marnie shouted his name and hurried from behind the counter, wrapping him in a hug.

“Shane, where were you?! Didn’t you get my calls? My texts? I was so worried something had happened – I thought you’d drank too much again and-” her panicked rambling was suddenly replaced by a pair of gentle sniffs. Suddenly, she pulled away and held him at arm’s length, confused eyes roving over him. “You... you don’t even smell like alcohol. You actually smell freshly washed and”—she interrupted herself with an over-dramatic gasp, thumbing the fabric of Marshall’s hoodie—“and whose is _this?_ ”

“I bought myself something in the city,” he shrugged nonchalantly. Marnie gave him her best _does-it-look-like-I-was-born-yesterday_ look, slapping him playfully on the arm.

“What a load of manure, it’s well-worn! Whose is it?” Now his aunt’s eyes shone with a smug glint and he feigned annoyance, stuffing his hands in the hoodie’s front pocket.

“Marshall’s,” he mumbled under his breath. He winced at Marnie’s delighted gasp.

“Marshall?! The farmer, Marshall?!” she squeaked redundantly, as if the town were just teeming with Marshalls. “Are you guys... are you guys like a”—she made some inarticulate gesture with her hands—“you know, like an item?” Shane opened his mouth to say some sarcastic quip, but Marnie talked over him again. “Not that I’d judge! I don’t judge. In fact, I think that Abigail and Penny-“

“Marnie, chill,” Shane interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut. He relaxed the uneasy tension that had built up in his shoulders. When he opened his eyes, Marnie was slightly subdued, but still hopeful. “I-I don’t know yet. He hasn’t done the... the flowers thing.” He hated the town’s courting traditions. If you want to date someone, why not just fucking ask? Marnie’s smile returned full force and Shane groaned, moving past her to his room.

“Well, buy him flowers then! Pierre is still open for another hour!” She followed behind him, wringing her hands excitedly. He grunted and nodded without replying. Before he closed his bedroom door, Marnie put a hand out to catch it. “All right, all right, I know I can be a bit overbearing. I’m glad you’re okay, Shane. I wish you and the farmer the best.” Shane let a small smile grace his lips before he gently shut his door and turned on his gaming console, pulling the hood of Marshall’s hoodie over his head and burying himself in that scent again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Embarrassed Shane is my favorite.


	19. Stupid Traditions Are Less Stupid With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life just fucked me over, having me lose hours of school work in one fell swoop. As I try not to have a mental breakdown, have an emotional and fluffy chapter.
> 
> TW: another small allusion to Marshall's sui attempt

Half an hour before closing, Marshall rushed into Pierre’s shop frantically, nearly sprinting towards the startled man. In his haze with Shane, he’d completely forgotten he was meant to get more fall seeds today. Pierre rung out his order happily, uncaring as long as business was getting done. Just before he’d finished bagging everything, Marshall looked up to see a devilish glint in the older man’s eye.

“I also would like to mention,” Pierre spoke slowly, “that in Pelican Town, we have a tradition of brandishing a lovely bouquet to a girl or _guy_ of your choosing. If you find yourself needing such an item... I keep plenty in stock.”

 _This is the goddamn Twitter of towns,_ Marshall thought bitterly. _Piss in a bush and the whole joint will know by the top of the hour._

“If you wipe that smug grin off your face, you can add one to my total,” he grinned to soften the bite of the sarcasm. Pierre chuckled heartily.

“Feisty! You and Shane are two peas of the same pod,” he chirped, carefully wrapping a colorful bouquet. _Did Shane even like flowers?_ he found himself pondering. He guessed it was more so the thought than the actual blooms. As he looked around the store, he was surprised to see so many others also shopping last minute. He almost felt bad for Pierre – he would probably be working a bit late tonight. Something told Marshall that the man truly didn’t care about much more than profits, though. As he turned to leave, the bell above the shop’s door jingled.

In walked a man that Marshall hadn’t met before. His black hair was gelled into some modern style, and the man’s eyes roved mercilessly over the store. Something about the man was off, and Marshall instantly pinpointed why that was when his eyes spotted the JojaMart logo on the man’s shirt. His blood ran ice cold in his veins, and his brain made several connections at once. This must be Shane’s manager; and though Shane didn’t talk about work much, Marshall knew his job agonized him and he didn’t doubt for a second that this short man was a glaring culprit. Marshall also realized that JojaMart was in direct competition with Pierre, making the sinister gaze that much more judgmental.

The freezing chill of fear was suddenly replaced by a boiling anger that caused Marshall’s walls to subconsciously rise, his face cold and about as readable as a preschooler’s scrawl.

“Attention, valued customers,” the shrill voice carried through the store, and Marshall saw several heads turn upwards out of curiosity. “JojaMart is offering a fifty-percent off sale on _everything_ in the store with this coupon.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew several strips of paper. “Come get them while they last!” He cried, waving them in the air.

“ _Fifty percent?!_ ” he heard Pierre cry out incredulously. “Surely you can’t keep those prices up!” Marshall turned to see the flustered shopkeeper, and even though Pierre was deeply ingrained in the clutches of capitalism and profit, he couldn’t stand to see such a kind-hearted soul belittled publicly.

“Oh, but we can! And we will!” The banshee-esque voice was really making Marshall wish he’d been born deaf. “And once all your customers become loyal to JojaMart, we’ll turn that abandoned old Community Center into our very own warehouse!” This made the anger begin to rise to Marshall’s chest. Stealing Pierre’s customers in front of him was bad manners but threatening to take over the Community Center and destroy the years of tradition embedded in its walls was pure corporate evil. The type of evil that months ago had Marshall’s normally dexterous fingers trembling as he had shoveled whatever pills he could find into his sobbing mouth.

“It’s not abandoned,” his emotions made his voice crack and come out softer than he’d wanted. Nevertheless, it made the man look at him, an angry sneer already replacing his faux-customer service look.

“ _What?_ ” he hissed.

“I said it’s not abandoned. I’m fixing up. In fact, the vault room and the boiler room are already repaired and fully furnished,” he said with pride. He straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders a bit. His eyes caught a nametag on the other man’s chest: Morris. Morris was an entire foot shorter than Marshall, and the farmer loved using his height to his advantage in these situations. Though, the man wasn’t quick to back down.

“As if that matters!” Morris spat. “My demolition crew can take it down in mere hours! You believe that place has any true value? Wake up, kid. Your sappy nostalgia and fairy-tale stories have no room in the real world. It’s time to move on from that disgusting pile of rubble and take advantage of this town’s land.” He finished with a smug grin. Everything about the man reeked of narcissism. Marshall took the couple of steps left to close the distance. Finally, with Marshall quite literally looming over him, the farmer caught a brief glimpse of muted panic in the man’s eyes. His voice projected, but he pitched it low so that it growled with his barely contained rage.

“If you so much as go near the Community Center, I’ll see to it that you regret ever fucking waking up.” In the heat of it, Marshall had completely forgotten there were other people in the store. What he certainly hadn’t noticed was the few minutes before when Shane had entered the store (intending to get one of the damned bouquets). Morris’s eyes widened in fear for a split second before the small man was able to gather himself.

“I’ll have you know, you’re publicly threatening a corporate affiliate of JojaMart,” Morris cried, balling his fists in a rage that wasn’t unlike a toddler’s tantrum. Marshall’s head tipped back as a condescending burst of laughter crackled through the store.

“ _You’re publicly threatening a corporate affiliate,”_ he mocked back in a crude imitation of Morris’s high-pitched voice. “Oh, fuck _off._ I could not _possibly_ give less of a shit who you are. Right now, all you are is some pathetic child trying to steal business from a well-meaning man who busts his ass every day, as well as threatening to steamroll the heart of this town with your fake produce and glaring fluorescent lights. Well let me tell you what.” Marshall bent slightly to get even further into the man’s space, who took an involuntary step back. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be nothing but a stain on the bottom of my shoe. Understand, prick?” Marshall didn’t wait for an answer. He brushed past the flustered imbecile, and saw Shane standing at the door with his jaw nearly kissing the floor.

Without breaking stride, he grabbed Shane’s hand and pulled him outside with him. He let Shane go once they’d gotten out, but Marshall never stopped walking. He could tell Shane was expecting him to say something. The air between them was tense beyond belief, and Marshall kept his eyes trained on what was in front of him, like a soundless soldier, as he squeezed the life out of his grocery bags.

He felt Shane’s eyes boring holes into him, but his mind was frozen and all he could do was walk forward. When they finally reached the farm and climbed up the porch steps, that was when the dam broke. Marshall’s walls shattered and he let out a strangled sob as he crumpled to the ground, back sliding down his front door. Shane crouched in front of him, silently, letting the farmer let it out. Marshall was acutely aware of how deformed he looked when he was crying, but he was too strung out to care. It wasn’t until Marshall began hyperventilating, that he heard Shane shuffle to sit down beside him and he felt warm arms turning him slightly and wrapping around him.

-S-

Marshall cried into the crook of Shane’s neck as he rocked them both. Eventually, Marshall’s sobs had reduced to mere sniffling, with an occasional hitched breath. He eventually pulled away from Shane, crudely wiping his nose on his sleeve. His eyes were bright red and so _scared._

“I’m sorry I... I don’t like getting angry like that. Reminds me of my mom and I”—Shane caressed his cheek and the farmer’s face began to crumple again—“I can’t be... I can’t be my mom-“ the last word turned into another choked inhale and Shane felt himself shaking his head as Marshall began hyperventilating again.

“No, no, no, Marshy. You’re not your mom. You’re not,” he whispered, brushing the pad of his thumb across the farmer’s pouted bottom lip. He felt the stuttering breath on his finger and ached to see the man in so much pain.

“How do you know? You”—another sharp breath split his words—“you don’t even know her.” He was right, Shane admitted to himself. But as his eyes flitted frantically between Marshall’s wet ones, it dawned on him that he didn’t need to.

“I know because you’re a caring person, Marshy. A _good_ person. A parent who does this to their own kid... is awful.” Marshall’s breathing finally slowed a tad, chest no longer desperately heaving. His eyelids seemed to begin to droop with exhaustion.

“I don’t always feel like a good person,” the deep voice cracked. Shane shifted the hand on his face to tangle in that lovely hair and pull the farmer closer until their foreheads rested against each other. His other hand rose to pet the other tear-stained cheek. He looked intensely into Marshall’s shattered gaze.

“You need to learn to take your own advice,” he whispered, smiling at the confusion that danced in his lover’s gaze. “Truly awful people don’t give a shit if they’re awful.”

“I didn’t give a shit when I was being awful to Morris,” he countered. Shane fought to keep his frustration at bay as he gently shook his head, moving Marshall’s inadvertently as well.

“That’s different. You’re not awful if you are sticking up to awful people. Morris is”—Shane began trembling with rage and he saw Marshall’s eyes widen a bit—“he’s pure, unfiltered evil. He’s insulted me, shoved me, screamed at me, made fun of me...” Shane trailed off as he suddenly saw his own rage perfectly mirrored in front of him. “He doesn’t deserve your big heart or your kindness. He deserved every last word you said to him and my _god_ if it wasn’t thrilling to see him finally get put in his place.”

They both fell silent as their shared emotions seemed to vibrate with a passionate electricity, foreheads sweating and eyes locked like their connected gazes were the last thing holding the tangible world around them together.

“Then I’ll give him hell ‘til the day he packs up and moves with his tail between his legs,” Marshall growled with conviction. His expression shifted and relaxed a bit, then. “Thank you, Shane. I...” he trailed off, beginning to nibble at his lip again. “It’s hard for me to come back down to Earth sometimes, you know? I get so wrapped up in who I should and shouldn’t be... or what I should and shouldn’t do.” He sighed and closed his eyes. Shane closed his, too, finding a warm calm wash over him, like the first songbirds after a terrible storm.

“I do that, too, for different reasons,” Shane admitted. “I always tell myself what I should be accomplishing; all the things I should be achieving since”—a pained whimper escaped his lips—“since Frank and Julie never got to.” He opened his eyes to see Marshall had been staring. He adored that gaze, devoid of the pity he so despised. Just a simple look of understanding laced recently with love. “But I think I’m starting to realize it’s not that black and white, right? There’s no telling what they’d be up to if they’d survived the crash. Even if they’d be incredibly successful fuckin’... brain surgeons or some shit, I dunno... it doesn’t mean I’m not still my own person. My own person with my own personality and goals and ambitions. It’s useless trying to pretend to be someone I’m not and”—he chuckled wistfully—“and I get so stressed about failure that sometimes I don’t realize I’m only failing because I’m giving myself impossible standards to live up to.”

Marshall had started crying again, but not a panicked and drowning cry. The tears that rolled silently down his cheeks were tinged with relief, eyes filled with a different type of pain – the pain of being faced with the flaws of your conditioned thought patterns and briefly realizing the extent of your self-deprecation.

“Thank you,” Marshall barely managed to whisper before closing his eyes and quietly sniffling. They shifted so they were holding each other again. When the sounds and tears ebbed, Shane was playing with Marshall’s hair, cherishing the feel of the soft strands sifting through his fingers. He smelled nice, too – a mix of his shampoo, the earth of the farm, and the same scent Shane buried himself in when he was wearing the hoodie (which he’d changed out of before going into town, selfishly not wanting to give it back just yet).

“The only thing I’m bummed about,” Shane began as he pulled back to look at Marshall, “was that I went into Pierre’s to get you one of those silly bouquets, but by the time I got there...” he chuckled. Marshall startled him, suddenly cackling with laughter. He scrunched up his nose and pouted. “What?”

Marshall abruptly twisted his torso to where his groceries were and rummaged around, still giggling. When he turned back around, he flopped a colorful arrangement of flowers into Shane’s lap that the boy instantly recognized.

“I already got one.” And with that, Shane was laughing, too. They turned so they sat facing each other, cross-legged, with both hands interlaced and the bouquet still perched in Shane’s lap. “Well?” Marshall bit his lip.

“Well, what?” Shane mused.

“You’re really going to-“ Marshall rolled his eyes, grin still painted on his lips. “Will you be my boyfriend?” Shane smirked, gnawing his lower lip with a teasing expression.

“Ahh, I dunno... I’ll have to see. Well, because Alex and I-“

“Oh, shut up!” Marshall exclaimed, with a slight whine. “I’ve had enough distress for one night, I just need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.”

“As if I’m going to say no,” Shane scoffed. He then sighed in resignation when he saw the genuine look of vulnerability back in Marshall’s eyes. “I’ve already told you I love you! Of course, I’ll be your boyfriend. In fact, I think we’re taking these steps a little out of order. First, the premarital sex-“ Shane was cut off by Marshall’s lips crashing against his. He chuckled into the farmer’s mouth and allowed the taller boy to deepen the kiss.

A demanding meow broke them from their moment. Amelia trotted up the porch steps, carrying something in her mouth. Before they could react, the fiend’s jaws opened to deposit a half-eaten mouse carcass.

“Oh, _Amelia!_ ” Marshall cried out in disgust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are complicated, man. So much work left to do... and so much time to do it. 
> 
> (Not on my front, though. No, I'm royally screwed)


	20. Can't Run Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my longest chapter yet, at 3k words! Whewwww.

Fall appeared to fly by, as life seemed to allow a bubble of carefree ecstasy to form around Marshall. He got second place at the Fair, trying not to glare at Pierre. He even managed to somehow convince Shane to wear a couple’s costume with him to Spirit’s Eve (with the sweet promise to make his night worthwhile). Shane spent most nights wrapped in his embrace, and Amelia frequently liked to wedge herself in the small space between them, purring and leeching their shared body heat. Shane went to therapy every Friday morning before work, and the farmer accompanied him for the first couple sessions to ease the nerves that made his boyfriend’s hands quake and his knee jostle up and down.

Speaking of work, Shane let Marshall know begrudgingly that Morris was as much of a prick as usual, despite his relationship with the farmer being common knowledge nowadays. If anything, Morris seemed to be trying to cover up the fear from that day at Pierre’s shop by goading Marshall via third party. The third party was not pleased.

Outside that hellhole, both boys dove into each other’s company, cooking late night meals in Marshall’s kitchen, watching shitty action films, drinking (juice and sparkling water), and cuddling endlessly. Sometimes, they would even have Jas stay for a sleepover; and Marshall’s heart tugged at the way Shane would look at his goddaughter while they ate pizza and watched movies or played games in the warm living room.

Despite the bubble, there was one tense conversation they shared in Marshall’s kitchen, as fall begrudgingly made room for winter. Shane refused to ignore the returning signs of starvation in the farmer’s body and had begged him to stop relying on “that shitty, tiny pill and actually _talk_ to someone.” Dinner had cooled and settled under their snappy sentences and tense shoulders. Eventually, some invisible iron smoothed the wrinkles in communication, and the tall boy was finally admitting that perhaps screaming into the void of his mind was doing more harm than good.

The first session for Marshall was rough. He couldn’t get much out without involuntarily lapsing into the chilling embrace of defense that only Shane had been able to chisel through. His therapist, Mark, had been patient. By the end of the session, Mark had managed to squeeze enough out of the sealed mind to tell Marshall that once a week sessions were crucial, without question.

As he rode the bus home alone, (his sessions were Monday afternoons, and as much as Shane promised he’d take off, he insisted he was fine going solo) his head bounced against the cool glass. Marshall’s head was filled with doubt. Doubt that he’d ever get more than a few nights in a row of uninterrupted sleep. Doubt that he’d ever be able to look at a meal without seeing his mother’s judgmental frown swimming behind his eyelids. Doubt that he’d ever be able to stop feeling the anger behind his father’s knuckles-

A tear had unknowingly been cradled in his eye and at the last thought, it jumped like a baby bird from a nest. He hastily wiped it on his hoodie sleeve. He didn’t want to cry on a fucking bus.

The bus screeched to a halt as Marshall rose on wobbly legs and meandered home. The trek was fairly short, but he felt like his feet were _dragging._ Amelia’s greeting drifted to his ears and he smiled in spite of the tornado that was ripping through his mind. He picked her up and cradled her close, relishing in the familiar scent and purr. Sometimes, he swore she could smell the agony wafting through his pores.

He set her down gently as he saw the flag on his mailbox raised. He had checked the mail this morning, so his face was twisted in confusion as he pulled the lid down.

There was a single envelope inside. Small. Unusually small compared to the envelopes he would get nowadays from his friends in the town, who would usually attach lengthy recipes or a bit of money as a thanks for a favor. As he slid it out and let his eyes rove over the writing scratched into the envelope, the sounds around him faded to nothing and his rapid heartbeat sought to replace it. The thudding in his ears was accompanied the drying of his throat as he read the return address – the address he’d scripted lazily onto hundreds of papers as a kid. The address he swore to never return to.

Marshall stood at his mailbox, shaking with rage and fear. Amelia pawed at his calf - similar to that night at the jellyfish festival - but Marshall was too far gone. He didn’t want to know what was inside, he told himself. His fingers didn’t agree, though, as they robotically slipped under the flap to tear it open. He fetched the paper inside, scoffing when he pulled out a scraggly piece of torn loose-leaf paper. The tears of rage pooling in his eyes barely allowed him to read the jagged words.

_Marshall,_

_Congratulations on quitting another job. Your father and I also appreciate the hospital bill you left with us for your little self-sabotage stunt. I got ahold of one of your old co-workers and she said you’d been blabbering about some farm after you left JojaCorp. You’re a rotten child for taking Everett’s farm from us. Not to mention how beautiful that land looked. I can’t stand to think about you messing it up. You have to come back at some point. I can’t imagine you making any produce or even getting to sell what grows before you stuff it in your mouth. Therefore, I’m coming down there with your father tomorrow to drop off the looney-bin bill and take my dad’s land back. You’ve hurt the both of us greatly with your selfish actions and I hope you know you’ll be living on the streets upon your return to the city._

_Mom_

-S-

Shane’s muscles screamed as he worked twice as fast as he usually would. He was distraught that he had to miss Marshall’s therapy appointment for this shithole. He hoped Morris would let him leave earlier than five if he got all his work done. _Fat chance,_ he thought, as he caught the manager approaching.

“What’s got you in such a rush, Shane?” he heard that shrill voice dig into him. “Got other plans to attend?” Shane found he spent more energy keeping the anger off his face than he did lifting those boxes.

“No, I’m just happy to work.” He internally groaned. He really couldn’t keep this up for much longer. Either his fist was going to connect with the puny man’s nose, or he was going to throw himself in front of the next bus. He visibly covered one ear when his boss’s shriek cried out.

“Stop being careless!” Shane turned to see a pudgy finger pointing accusingly at a row of cans, one can turned so the label was slightly obscured. The fist option was looking more and more likely. Before he could control himself, he hastily shot his hand out and roughly twisted the can back into place, giving Morris a scathing glare.

“All better,” he quipped, turning to unpack more boxes. He felt a hand curl around the fabric of the collar of his shirt and tug him upright.

“You better watch-“ Morris was cut short by Shane twisting roughly out of his grasp and looming over him, like Marshall did at Pierre’s. Shane was shorter, but it still had the desired effect.

“ _Don’t you dare fucking touch me, or you will have a lawsuit on your hands, you hear me?!”_ he screamed into the man’s face. His eyes then shot up to the caged clock on the far wall. 4:45pm. “I’m leaving early today,” he growled. He pushed past a sputtering Morris, uncaring if he just pushed past his job as well. He would figure it out somehow. Over the past few sessions with his therapist, Rhonda, he’d finally begun to set standards for how he should be treated. Morris broke all of them.

-

Shane’s anger had slowly flushed out of him by the time he stepped onto the farm. It was replaced by excitement at seeing his boyfriend and hearing about his first appointment. The excitement was short lived, pushed to the side with a gnawing dread as he saw the lights inside the house weren’t on. The sun was still out, there’s no way Marshall would be sleeping. He also knew that the farmer had made plans to relax at home all day after what he anticipated would be a rocky first meeting with Mark. Shane’s pace quickened and he took the three porch steps in one stride, opening the door a bit too harshly.

The lights were off, but the windows still let the sun flood the room enough to create a semi-foreboding ambience. On the couch, he spotted the hunched shoulders of his boyfriend – stock still. He closed the front door and flicked on the light switch for the living room. The man on the couch didn’t even flinch.

“Marshall...?” he whispered tentatively. He slowly made his way over to the couch. As he rounded it, he saw the profile of a shattered boy. In Marshall’s hands, Shane spotted a piece of raggedy paper that looked like it had been balled up and unfurled over and over. “Marshy,” Shane tried again. No response. He carefully sunk into the couch, not quite touching him. He had never seen the man like this, and terror froze him in place.

The minutes seemed to stagnate, time itself forced to crawl blindly on its hands and knees as Shane stared at the side of Marshall’s face. Then he swiveled his gaze to follow the farmer’s, only to travel to a blank television screen. He was nervous to try and rouse him, but he couldn’t realistically leave him like this.

He wondered if therapy had been this bad and began to felt guilt snarl at him for begging him to go. He scooted closer and laid a gentle hand on the taller boy’s shoulder. Opening his mouth to say something, _anything,_ to break the nightmarish unresponsiveness, Shane was startled as Marshall jerked away from his grasp and shot up from the couch. His gaze never moved, now staring into the wall.

“Marshall!” he heard himself yell. “Marshall, say something!” That was when the boy began to tremble, _violently._ Like winter had begun a month ago, instead of its due date of tomorrow. Finally, Marshall moved and looked at him. But this was almost worse, as even though their eyes were locked, Shane might as well have been staring at a listless doorknob.

“I should’ve known I couldn’t run forever,” the voice that filled Shane’s ears chilled him to the bone. He swallowed nervously and stood up, moving to close the distance as he put his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“Run from what?” he asked, inflicting as much calm as he could muster. He squeezed Marshall’s shoulders and finally those eyes filled with sentience again, making him want to cry in relief. Again, this was almost worse, though. The enormous amount of pain and fear and inexplicable trauma that stared back at him shattered his heart. “Marshall, please tell me what’s going on, baby.” Sickly-sweet pet names made his eyes roll, but he hoped the softness in his voice would tear the fabric of this horror movie reeling before him.

A trembling hand rose slowly, to present that scrap of paper Shane had spotted earlier. He caressed Marshall’s fingers as he swapped the paper into his own hand, unfurling it. He couldn’t help the raging scowl that snarled his lips as his eyes burned curses into every word of the letter.

“What the _fuck?_ ” He noticed numbly that he was shaking now, too. But with scorching, fiery anger. Then, he did something daring. Something that was risky and could’ve easily backfired. He locked eyes with Marshall and tore the letter to shreds. His rough fingers didn’t stop until it was only miniscule pieces fluttering to the ground. He wrapped Marshall in a tight hug, then.

Marshall wailed into him, and Shane curled the boy against him as secure as he could, squeezing his eyes shut.

“What am I going to do?” Marshall cried out. “She’s gonna come a-and they’re gonna take the f-farm and force me to mo-“ he heard the farmer’s breath hitch painfully. He pulled Marshall away to hold him at arm’s length, shaking his head with a cold and determined look in his eyes.

“They’re not going to do _shit,_ ” he said. “They can’t take the farm. It’s in your name now – officially. Everyone in this town loves you, Marshy, and they’d never let some arrogant _cunt_ ”—Shane hissed in a fury he’d never tapped into before—“force you to move.” Marshall’s hyperventilating persisted, though, as his eyes flicked around with a fresh wave of panic.

“But I don’t know what to say to her! If she starts calling me names o-or bringing up past shit, I-“ he sputtered, voice getting more shrill with desperation.

“I’m going to be here.”

“No, you have work-“

“There’s no way in hell I’m going into work while you have to deal with your pitiful excuses for parents,” Shane reassured.

“Won’t you get fired...?” The question came out exhausted, as if Marshall only really asked it out of polite obligation.

“It doesn’t matter,” Shane’s voice softened, dropping his hands from the boy’s shoulders. “Besides, the good thing about living in a small town is job security,” he shrugged with a small smile. Marshall let out a small, watery chuckle. His sobs had quieted to small hiccups in breath, and the look in his eyes when he glanced back up at Shane made him look like a terrified kid. It twisted around his heart painfully.

“Y-you’re sure? I mean, you’re sure they can’t drag me back to the city?” his normally confident drawl reduced to a fragile whine. Shane reached up and cupped the sides of his adorable face, tugging it down to his level to connect their lips in a firm kiss. When it broke, their lips were only millimeters apart.

“I promise,” he whispered, letting his eyelids flutter open to gaze at flicker of hope in the farmer’s face. “Promise, promise, promise,” he chanted. Marshall’s eyes closed and he was delighted to see a smile snake its way onto his lips.

“Okay,” he whispered back.

-

That night, as Shane spooned Marshall in bed in post-orgasmic calm, he played with that amazing black hair idly as he thought about how they were going to handle the unwelcome visit tomorrow. Shane didn’t know much at all about the boy’s parents, but today made him eternally grateful that his had been decent. He hated to see the aftermath that years of abuse left on a kid, and he silently vowed that no matter what happened tomorrow, he wouldn’t let those wretched people do any more damage.

“I can seriously _feel_ you thinking,” a deep voice giggled at him. Shane laughed and moved to shift his hand from Marshall’s hair. “Hey, I didn’t say you could stop that,” he protested. Shane teased him with a snarky remark, returning his fingers to gently scratch at his boyfriend’s scalp, who sighed contently. “Mmm... that feels good,” he mused. The silence was heavy for minute, and suddenly Shane understood what Marshall meant about tactile thought. “Sorry I was such a crybaby earlier. I-“ he was cut off by Shane rolling him over. Their gazes connected, and Shane tapped a finger into the farmer’s chest.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he tapped for emphasis. “And you’re not a ‘crybaby’,” he scoffed. “I love you a whole fucking lot and crying is as normal as shitting.” Marshall’s eyes closed in blind laughter at the comparison. “You don’t see people sayin’ sorry every time they take a dump, do ya?” Shane continued, barely able to contain his own laughter. “No, you don’t. So, seriously”—Shane’s finger became a stroking hand on Marshall’s chest—“quit apologizing for having emotions or letting them out, okay?”

“It’s so hard... to unlearn so much... “ Marshall trailed off for a second, gnawing his bottom lip. “it’s like I’m an old dog trying to learn new tricks.”

“I know,” Shane whispered, scooting to nuzzle impossibly closer. He was slid up further on the bed so that the farmer could curl against his fuzzy chest. “You’ll get through it, though. I just know you will. Even the first day my grumpy ass snapped at you in the town, I knew there was just something about you that was fighting. But it was _winning,_ too, and I got a better look at it later that day in the saloon. Not only was it winning, but it wasn’t even close to done.” Marshall’s head had swiveled up from its cozy resting spot to stare at Shane, mulling over his words. His lips curled into a soft smile, then, and Shane hoped he’d said the right thing.

Shane ducked his head down to capture those beautifully full lips in his own. He’d never get tired of the way Marshall’s mouth rocked with his in unison, or the way their tongues would eventually brush together and explore the space that’d opened. He’d never get bored of the pants of breath that would puff happily between them, or how their arms would squeeze tighter and legs would drift into careful knots.

When they pulled apart, both men kept their eyes closed and their foreheads connected. Shane’s hand still on Marshall’s chest felt the rhythmic thumping of a calm and exhausted heart. His voice warmed Shane’s ears and he noticed that tiredness began to seep there, too.

“I know healing is intrinsically my responsibility and we’re not supposed to lean on each other too much,” the farmer hummed. “But I’ll be damned if I don’t admit that you make it so much more doable.” Shane’s grin was almost painful.

“The feeling’s mutual,” he purred, managing to get those final words out before sleep scooped them both up and into pleasant dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The upcoming chapters are going to be littered with trigger warnings. I will perhaps have to update the tags - as brief mentions ended up being not-so-brief.


	21. Ding Dong, The Witch is... Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not posting in, like, 8 whole days!! I got very self-conscious about my writing and my mental health hasn't been the greatest. But, I'm slowly telling myself that no one's rendition of these characters is necessarily right or wrong, and if I have fun writing then that's all that matters. Anyways! I'm actually almost done writing and it seems like it might be between 25-27 chapters after everything is said and done.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter and next chapter are going to be *heavy* in the child (well Marshall's technically an adult now, but you catch my drift) abuse and humiliation department. It's very emotional and very heavy but the sun will always shine after a storm (:

Shane awoke on the first of winter to an empty bed. He sat up with a start, his evil mind jumping in delight to tell him that Marshall had finally left him. Suddenly, the sounds of hammering outside settled his sleepy mind. He had typed a text to send automatically to Morris at 5am that he was too sick to come in. Checking his phone now, he saw the man had replied that he’d be written up, but Shane shrugged indifferently. Still sounded like he had his job, so whatever.

He quickly got up and got dressed, grinning slyly as he swapped last night’s shirt for one of Marshall’s sweaters. He pulled the black garment over his head, smiling as the comforting scent swaddled him like a baby chick in fresh hay. Yawning, he opened the front door and stepped out into the crisp morning. Marshall was hard at work, hammering broken fence posts back into place and ripping a tape measure around to make sure the measurements were perfect. Shane felt his eyebrows pull together as concern leaked into his features. Was Marshall always this painstakingly meticulous?

It was then that Shane began to look at his surroundings more closely. Not a single weed or stray blade of grass was in sight. All stumps were broken down and stacked in too-neat piles. No boulders lay uncracked and not even acorns or maple seeds were left on the ground. His eyes widened in barely contained shock as he spotted a soapy bucket and scrubbing brush lying next to the stone pathing that wound around the farm.

 _Oh, my fucking god... did he polish the goddamned stones?_ Shane thought. _How long has he been up?_

Shane finally returned his attention to the farmer, who still hadn’t even given any signs that he’d seen him, despite Shane only being a few yards away. He closed the distance slowly, like he were approaching a grizzly bear. Once he did, he unfurled his arms that had folded across his chest and leaned casually against the other side of the fence that his boyfriend was desperately hammering.

“Hey Mar-“ he began, but was interrupted when Marshall’s head snapped up, zeroing in on the soft belly pressed against the sturdy wood.

“Don’t lean on that!” his voice was shrill, panicked. His eyes weren’t even the same shade of gray-green that they usually were and the bags under his eyes were dark.

“Marshy, what the fuck are you doing?” Shane asked softly, meandering around the fence to get closer. Marshall just huffed and refocused back to the stubborn fence post that was apparently not going far enough into the ground for the boy’s liking.

“’M gonna show them that I take good care of Briar Steep,” he spoke with an indignant determination. Suddenly, he brought the hammer down hard on the post, making Shane jump a bit. “But this _stupid_ fucking _cocksucker_ of a _fence_ won’t _cooperate!”_ He emphasized the words with a resonating pound.

“Marshall, hey,” Shane lunged an arm out, grabbing for the hammer.

“ _No,_ ” the farmer cried, twisting away. Shane hugged him from behind as Marshall thrashed. He was probably stronger than Shane, but the wrestle seemed more emotional than anything else. Eventually, the shorter man got the hammer from his grasp and tossed it, hearing it clang somewhere in the distance. He pressed his face into Marshall’s back and held him as tight as he could, as the farmer covered his face in his hands and silently wept. All Shane heard were a few sniffles before he felt the other body gently turn around in his arms to face him. The defeated look he saw in Marshall’s eyes tugged at his chest, and he found himself wanting to do sappy shit he used to gag at in movies. Like kiss his eyelids or something.

“Mar-“ he tried again, but the farmer shook his head.

“No, I know it’s stupid, Shane. I know no matter what I do, they’ll always find something wrong. I just... I don’t know... I can’t help but _try._ ” Marshall’s eyes had drifted to the ground as he dug the toe of his shoe in the dirt. “I talked to Lewis early this morning and told him everything,” he mumbled, looking back up at Shane. “You were right.” Shane felt himself grinning, and the farmer managed a small smile, too. “Man, you shoulda seen the fire in that man’s eyes by the end. He said all I needed to send was a text and he would be over with the deed faster than I could say ‘sweet gem berry’.”

“God, sounds like him all right,” Shane groaned with an eye roll. “You don’t need to prove to anyone how amazing the farm looks. Anyone with a brain can see how well you take care of this land and if you compare it to the disaster it was when you first arrived,” Shane whistled low, “you’ve worked a fuckin’ miracle, I’d say.” Marshall laughed and playfully shoved him on the shoulder.

“You know you don’t have to sweet talk me to get in my pants, right?” he teased, a flirtatious glint in his eyes. Shane’s mouth dropped in a large ‘o’ shape before an open-mouthed grin stretched across his face and he shoved Marshall back. The farmer stumbled backward a little and tipped his head back, laughing.

“You _ass,_ I’m being honest!”

“I know, I know. Hey wait! That’s my sweater!” Shane felt a large hand grab the material at his chest. He twisted out of the accusatory grip, forcing his lips in a line to contain another cheeky grin.

“I dunno what you’re talking about, I came here with this,” Shane snorted, unable to contain the smile anymore.

“Bull _shit,_ ” Marshall laughed, wrapping an arm around Shane’s waist and pulling him against him roughly. It was then that Shane’s breath hitched because Marshall’s lips were now tickling his ear. “I’d know, because I took great delight in ripping that atrocious Joja shirt off you last night,” he growled. Shane shuddered and blushed profusely.

“Yeah fine, it’s yours,” Shane whispered. He heard his boyfriend click his tongue as if to chastise.

“Not to mention, I haven’t seemed to be able to find the hoodie I let you borrow a few weeks ago.” The breath on his ear was hot and encompassed his entire body. “You have to give me something of yours, hmm? Only seems fair.” The arm slunk off his hips and Marshall disengaged himself from a very red and flustered Shane, who hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Well, my uniform’s still in there if you wanna-“

Marshall cut him off with a fake retching noise.

-M-

It was just before noon when the pair heard the bus brakes from the farm. Shane and Marshall shared a concerned look, but Shane gave him a single, reassuring nod as he interlaced his fingers between Marshall’s.

The farmer sighed heavily, wiggling his shoulders a bit, willing his body to relax. Hand-in-hand, they walked to the entrance of the farm to meet his parents. They soon heard the crunch of footsteps, and Marshall found himself accidentally crushing Shane’s hand in his own once his parent’s familiar faces materialized down the path.

His mother with her dark hair always wrapped in a painstakingly neat bun, lips always either pursed or slanted in a disapproving scowl. She had worn a bland blouse and slacks with high heels. His dad was as tall as him, and Marshall never failed to feel a shiver run up his spine at the calloused man with an expression to rival even the toughest rocks in the mines. His strong arm draped over his wife protectively, an envelope clutched in that large hand.

He saw the progression of his mother’s demeanor shifting when she realized Marshall wasn’t alone. A sickening smile wove itself across her lips – the same one she would craft when he was a kid for a DSS visit after a well-meaning teacher would report the bruises speckled along skin his clothes couldn’t cover. His hand squeezed Shane’s even tighter, feeling panic truly start to swarm like angry wasps in his chest.

“Marshmallow!” his mom called, the sweetness in her voice more akin to anti-freeze than honey. He winced at the wretched nickname. She closed the distance between them and reached up to pinch his cheeks between her fingers and affectionately coo at him. He gave her a wry smile in return. “Who’s this?” she asked, stepping back to rake Shane up and down, sizing him up. She caught sight of their linked hands and couldn’t cover the disgust that pooled into the bridge of her nose.

“My boyfriend,” Marshall replied coolly, letting go of Shane’s hand briefly to wrap his arm around the other boy. He risked a glance Shane, whose face was a very well-kept mask of indifference – however, the farmer knew from hours of staring into those eyes that their shade was darker than usual, indicating a smoldering rage.

“O-oh, how adorable,” his mother stuck out her hand. “I’m Melinda, nice to meet you, and this is my husband, Gary.” His father was behind her suddenly, giving a curt nod and toying with the envelope in his hands.

“Shane,” he heard the gruff reply, a thin smile forced on his face as he gave Marshall’s mother’s hand one firm bounce before breaking the handshake.

“Well we haven’t eaten lunch yet,” his father’s deep voice rumbled. “Why don’t you show your old folks some hospitality, Marshall?” Marshall sucked in a breath through his teeth but forced his smile even wider. He’d do anything to keep that voice low and calm.

“Of course, let me make us something fresh,” he acquiesced, keeping his tone steady and measured. He dropped his arm from Shane, but they kept their shoulders close as he led his parents to the cottage. Stepping past the threshold, he tried to stuff down the invasive feeling that came with knowing his parents were openly judging everything. He motioned them to the dining table and slotted himself into the kitchen with Shane.

“Was this wallpaper your doing?” he heard his mother’s voice call out. Obviously, she had not taken the dining table hint.

“Yes, it goes nice with the carpet,” he bluffed. He heard her make some noncommittal noise. Marshall had already meal-prepped, so cooking didn’t take long. He made a vegetable stew, the ingredients picked fresh from the farm. He held out a ladle to Shane. “Taste,” he mumbled, softly. Shane sipped, humming in approval and nodding eagerly.

“You need to eat some, too, Marshy. You haven’t eaten all day, either. Please?” Shane jokingly batted his eyelashes to stifle the serious undertone of the message. Marshall crinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at the boy, earning a chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah. Go set the table, will you?” Marshall jolted slightly when he felt a gentle pat on his rear and saw Shane smirking at him, before turning to gather bowls and silverware. He whipped around and thankfully saw his parents were too busy having found Amelia who – much to his brief amusement – was beginning to bristle with hostility. “You’re naughty,” he whispered. Shane scoffed and meandered out of the kitchen.

-S-

Making idle conversation with Marshall’s bastard parents was awkward. They mostly asked him polite, meaningless questions about where he worked and what he planned for the future. God, did he hate questions about his future. But he figured he didn’t have anything to prove to these people, so he just told empty and flowery lies that would appease people of their ilk. Eventually, they moved onto the topic of Jas and he was relieved to feel a bit of the rising tension simmer as he eagerly gushed about his goddaughter. Once the conversation circled back to the farmer, though, the tension swept back in quickly.

“I’m glad Marshall has begun to thin out,” Melinda chirped, looking at Gary meaningfully. “No longer our little Marshmallow, is he?”

“He’s actually underweight,” Shane said coldly. He knew he was supposed to be calm for Marshall, but his boiling blood could only keep him quiet for so long. Melinda’s eyes fixed on his with a curious gaze that held the beginnings of ice within.

“Well if you’d seen how he looked as a child, you might be just as relieved as we are. We always felt terribly ashamed. The thought of losing our boy at a young age to clogged arteries or heart failure was too much to bear.” Her frown was plastic and the emotions held no depth. Shane’s leg jostled violently, and it wasn’t until the table began to shake with it, that he forced himself to still.

“Lunch is served!” Marshall called, bringing out a steaming pot of vegetable stew and sitting at his place beside Shane. Shane forced himself to wipe away the tension that might be lingering in the atmosphere by grinning broadly.

“Smells great,” Gary grunted, picking up the ladle to serve himself. All four of them ate in an awkward silence, the only sound being spoons on bowls. Marshall was the first to sit back, and Shane realized he’d barely eaten anything. He followed Marshall’s gaze and saw that Melinda had been staring him down like a hawk. Shane was suddenly incredibly close to snapping.

Marshall’s head swiveled, then, catching Shane’s gaze. His eyes pleaded with him and Shane nodded with a soft sigh. He’d eat later, they agreed wordlessly. Once everyone was done, Shane and Marshall began taking dishes to the kitchen, while his parents sat and fidgeted nervously. Marshall must’ve saw Shane notice this.

“They’re not going to talk about anything until you leave,” he sighed heavily. “It’s what they do. They hide until they think they’re alone.” Marshall was scrubbing the life out of a bowl that sparkled long ago. Shane gently pried it from his hands.

“Marshy, I don’t want to leave you alone with them. Who knows what-“ a ringing phone sliced their conversation. Shane huffed in agitation as he fished his phone from his pocket, and then growled as he saw the caller ID: Morris.

“Take it, Shane. I’ll be fine. Just... don’t go far,” he said in that soft, vulnerable voice that Shane ached at. He wanted to say more, but he knew missing a call from his work would be bad news. He power walked to the front door, muttering about being called into work. He answered the phone as soon as the door shut behind him and walked far enough to where he couldn’t be seen from any windows of the cottage.

_“Shane, I need you to come into work. We’re severely understaffed.”_

“I can’t. I’m sick, Morris. I told you,” he inflicted some weakness into his voice.

_“Fever?”_

“Yes, it’s at 102,” he groaned pitifully.

 _“I want a note from Harvey, you hear me? If I find out you’re lying, I will fire you!”_ Morris’s shriek was even worse through a phone, Shane found. A soft _click_ indicated that his boss had hung up on him. He cursed under his breath, running his hands through his hair. How was he going to get a note from Harvey? Maybe he could lean over a pot of boiling water and then have Harvey take his temperature. Maybe he could bribe Harvey. Maybe he could-

He was ripped from his thoughts as he heard a shout and a loud crash from inside. Panic rose like bile in his throat, as he sprinted through the front door in record time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger >:o
> 
> This chapter and next chapter were originally one, but as it got to be insanely long, I split it into two. 
> 
> Peak satisfaction in "not even my cat likes you - and she likes everyone!"


	22. You Have No Power Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for this chapter:  
> \- Physical violence/abuse  
> \- Strong and abusive language  
> \- Another brief mention of past non-con  
> \- Sassy Shane

As soon as Shane left the house, Marshall returned to the table and sighed, interlacing his fingers on the table. His father grabbed the envelope from his coat pocket and slid it over to him, like he were participating in some cold and formal business transaction instead of visiting his only son.

“You want to explain yourself?” his mother piped up. He forced himself to lock eyes with her, and all he saw was the familiar icy stare. “Why you lied to those _doctors_ about being _depressed,_ ” she spat the last word like it was a sunflower seed. “Why you made everyone worry _sick_ about you? Why you thought you had any _right_ to try and take my dad’s farm?” She was positively shaking with rage at this point. He had been quiet the entire time, head bent to look at his interlaced hands.

“Grandpa left it to me in his-“ he was interrupted by his mother shrieking.

 _“I don’t care what he said in his will! He was my father! Briar Steep belongs to ME! Not some selfish, spoiled brat who thinks he’s entitled to someone else’s hard work!”_ Marshall’s face had lapsed into that familiar indifference that hadn’t been used in quite a while. But as the last of her words hit him, he snapped. He snapped in almost the same way he had that pivotal night in his old studio apartment – this time with clarity, rather than blind desperation. The old walls of defense became boring and unsatisfying to him, as he realized that he didn’t have to be scared of his parents anymore. He had this entire town on his side. He was going nowhere. These evil shells of humans had no power over him anymore.

Thus, the mask unraveled, pooling at his feet like his jeans did when Shane’s fingers told him he was beautiful. Like his insecurities did when Shane’s arms told him he deserved to be cared for and that he deserved to have emotions and let those emotions free. Like his resolve did, when he let himself _agree._ Marshall was allowed to be angry. He _deserved_ to be angry. His head snapped up, fire burning in his eyes as he glared at his mom.

It wasn’t just twenty-six-year-old Marshall that bore into her with anger, though. It was also eighteen-year-old Marshall, sixteen-year-old Marshall, ten-year-old Marshall, six-year-old Marshall; it was every single minute of his life where he’d let her stuff him in a box while his father beat him into shape. He felt himself standing, chair scraping behind him. Her head was forced to swivel up to him, confused but still angry.

 _“I’ve worked my ass off on this farm!”_ he screamed at her, spittle flying from his lips. _“I’ve spent years with your voice in my head telling me I’m not good enough. O-or thin enough! I heard your insults in my head until it was my own voice parroting them back at me! Until I hated myself so much that I would rather die than be the person you’d told me I was.”_ He took a heaving breath, not even realizing the animalistic look in his father’s eyes as the man stood, fists already balled. _“But then I took control of my life and I made something of myself here! I made a life in spite of you and you can’t_ stand _that! You can’t_ stand _to see me-“_ Suddenly his table was flipped, and his anger shattered in confusion for a moment (tables don’t fly, right?) before his head jerked up to see his father. He barely had a second to tense in preparation before he was violently shoved into the nearest wall.

 ** _“You shut your fucking mouth, you ungrateful twat!”_** his father roared. All at once, his feet were off the ground as his father’s strong hand wrapped around Marshall’s throat and lifted him. It was crazy how easily childhood can be recreated in the blink of an eye. Wasn’t courage supposed to defeat the villain? The front door blew open as the farmer’s choking noises crackled across the room. His father’s other fist was cocked, aimed at his hollow belly.

Then he was on the ground again, gasping for air and feeling the fresh bruises that would form around his throat. He saw through a hazy, oxygen-deprived vision that Shane and his father were wrestling. He quickly dug out his phone and called Harvey.

“911 on farm,” he rasped weakly. “Bring Lewis... tell him...” he wheezed. “Tell him bring the deed.” That was all he could manage before the phone dropped. He heard the screams of his mother faintly, as Shane and his dad traded swings. He launched himself onto his dad, tugging him around the middle. The farm had given him so much strength, but he still couldn’t believe he was able to pry that giant of a man off Shane.

Shane’s nose was bleeding profusely but his rage had changed him into an animal that was unconscious of its wounds, as he leaped toward Marshall and Gary. Marshall simultaneously felt his father’s elbow slam into his rib cage, and the wind was knocked out of him instantly as pain radiated across his body.

The sirens were what snapped them all back to reality. Harvey swept in through the front door, Lewis in tow. Harvey sprinted over and hefted Marshall and his dad apart, while Lewis took hold of Shane.

“Now just what in the world is going on?” Lewis yelled, normally jovial eyes screwed in anger. Marshall saw his mom turn to him.

“Who are you?” she spat at the man.

“The damned mayor of this place! Who are _you_ and why are you two hassling our townsfolk?!” He let go of Shane and stood to face the woman.

“I’m Everett’s daughter and this is my land that my sorry excuse for a son _stole_ from me!” she pursed her lips in an angry line. Lewis’s expression changed to a recognition, and a vicious glint shone in his eyes.

“Everett was very close to me. He spoke about you a lot,” Lewis began with a cold and predatory edge to his voice that Marshall had never witnessed. “He always said you were wretched to his grandson,” he snarled. “Which was why he left Briar Steep to Marshall.” Lewis opened his briefcase and brandished the paperwork at her. “This is the deed to the farm. Officially signed and written off to Marshall Cane. It’s also a copy, so ripping it up will do you no good except for making yourself look like a toddler.” The angry way his mom’s face contorted was borderline comical. “The police are outside to escort you and your husband to the city. You are permanently barred from Pelican Town.”

-

The next couple of hours sped by in a surreal blur. He never thought he’d see his parents get loaded into a squad car. He found himself dazedly wondering how long it would take for them to fool the police right in front of the scene. Or how long it would take for his parents to put the law under the same spell they’d received when he was a battered kid. None of those things happened, though, and he could almost sob in relief.

Harvey drove everyone to his clinic in a hurry, and that was truly when everything blended into a flurry of voices and hands and bandages and needles and x-rays. He felt his lips keep trying to move to ask for his boyfriend, but the pain and exhaustion kept everything behind a blurry veil. It wasn’t until he was in a lone hospital bed that he finally came to his senses.

The door to his right opened and clicked shut as Harvey strolled through, giving Marshall a gaze tactfully balanced with concern and care.

“Sha-“ he tried, but his voice was a scratchy rasp and the bitterly familiar pain of a choking hand’s aftermath squeezed his eyes shut. Harvey quietly shushed him as he strolled to a curtain on the farmer’s left.

“Hush now, don’t try to speak,” he gently scolded as he tugged the curtain back, revealing Shane in an identical bed. The two of them locked eyes, sharing a numb exhaustion and a dull frustration at the distance between them. “You both have had quite a night, but you are thankfully not too banged up.” The doctor flipped between pages on his clipboard as he turned toward Marshall. “Our x-rays show you suffered 3 bruised ribs and the marks on your neck as well as the distress on your windpipe show signs of... strangling.” His professional demeanor cracked for a moment as he swallowed thickly with an awkward sadness. He turned his body the other way, pages rustling again. “As for Shane, you had a laceration across your left temple that we stitched up. You also had a slight concussion and a broken nose, but I’m confident that the brace will ensure no permanent crookedness.” With the laundry list out of the way, Harvey sighed and dropped his clipboard to his side. “Both of you will need to stay overnight for observation. Are either of you hungry?”

“Marshall is.” The farmer jerked his head to glare at Shane, who raised an eyebrow indignantly. He opened his mouth to argue but was immediately cut off. “Huh-uh, you’re on voice rest, mister.” He rolled his eyes and gave Harvey an exasperated nod.

“You’ll need something easy on the throat,” the doctor stated. He returned to Marshall’s patient chart, scanning it with a not-so-subtle double take at what the farmer could assume was the weight and height record. “As well as high in caloric value. I’ll have Maru fetch you some soup and a pudding cup. Juice or water?” Marshall held up two fingers to indicate the second option. Then he turned to Shane and the relief that poured from his eyes made Marshall’s annoyance ebb. He was suddenly pitifully cold under the scratchy gown and thin blankets. As per usual, Shane seemed to instantly be on the same wavelength.

“Hey, doc,” he said. “If you’re gonna keep us here tonight, I ain’t sleepin’ in separate beds.” Harvey pinched the bridge of his nose with a frustrated huff.

“I’m not supposed to allow it,” he grumbled. “But I doubt there’d be any stopping you.” Shane snorted as he stood weakly from his bed.

“Knew you were a smart one,” the purple-haired boy quipped. Marshall bit back a chuckle – and then felt himself blush as he realized that these hospital gowns really did not leave much to the imagination. Harvey put a hand on Shane’s elbow to help him over to the farmer’s bed. The tall boy scooted over as Shane happily slid under the covers with him. He noticed briefly how similar it was to the day he found Shane on the cliffs. Only this time, Shane was curling Marshall into his chest. “Better,” he sighed. Marshall hummed in agreement.

“One noise of pain from either of you, and I’ll tie you to separate beds if I have to,” Harvey warned, unable to contain a small smile. With that, he strode out the door and clicked it shut behind him. The two boys locked their sad and tired gazes, two pairs of eyes pooling with tears.

“Fucking hell, Marshy...” Shane’s pained whisper was accompanied by fingers ghosting over the angry ring of bruises around the farmer’s throat. “I knew there was something else going on that morning in your bathroom”—Marshall recalled Shane’s shocked yelp that day as the serenity was shattered by flashbacks while their shower slowly warmed—“but I didn’t realize...” His boyfriend trailed off, voice choked with emotion. Marshall furrowed his brow and shook his head.

“No,” the farmer started, voice thin as wrapping paper. “It’s not-“

“What part of ‘voice rest’ do you not understand?” Shane groaned, squeezing the farmer a tad closer. Marshall rolled his eyes and snorted in frustration, willing his voice to come out stronger.

“Oh, leave it alone, Shane,” he snapped. “You don’t need to coddle me like this is the first time I’ve been through this. This is just the first time I’ve had a fucking hospital bed to recover in.” The anger in his voice was misplaced and regret hit him harder than his father’s fists ever could when he saw the shattered pieces of Shane’s heart swim in the tears that immediately pooled in his boyfriend’s emerald eyes. His already emotionally drained brain fought with the new roaring waves of mental anguish, and he couldn’t bring an apology to his lips. Marshall couldn’t do anything except tear his gaze away from the unbearable one above him and desperately curl his fist into the fabric of Shane’s gown that nestled against that adorably fuzzy chest. He sobbed, uninhibited by his self-consciousness about crying. “It’s fucked, it’s fucked!” he cried, hoarsely. “Everything is _fucked._ ” He released the now crinkled fabric, but only to replace it with his heated, wet face as he wrapped the newly freed arm around Shane’s waist. He clung to him like Shane had clung to him that day in the bar when he’d told the farmer the tragedy of Jas’s parents.

“It is,” came Shane’s soft and simple agreement. Marshall could’ve sworn he heard a sniffle. “I just didn’t _know,_ Marshall. I didn’t _realize..._ how much he”—Marshall heard him swallow thickly—“how your father...” Marshall finally lifted his head from his boyfriend’s chest to connect their eyes again, shaking his head.

“No, no, it’s...” he trailed off, chewing his lip nervously, desperately scouring his brain for the words. “The throat... thing, that’s... that’s from Gretchen.” He saw Shane’s eyebrow raise tentatively, urging him to continue with the brand of gentleness that constantly reminded Marshall of why he fell for the shorter boy in the first place. “I kept screaming ‘no’ until she made sure I didn’t have enough air to do so,” he choked and felt his stomach flip. Shane’s face instantly paled; and for the most peculiar moment, it seemed both men were going to puke at once. The farmer felt the familiar tendrils of flame lapping at the back of his brain, and suddenly every ounce of physical contact was too much. “I-I gotta pee,” he stammered, clambering out of Shane’s embrace too quickly to not be suspicious.

Marshall limped to the bathroom, ribs creaking painfully under his skin. Once the closed door was behind him, he found himself hyperventilating as he stumbled to the sink. He made the mistake of looking into the mirror. He had heavy bags under his eyes, which were bloodshot and devoid of their usual vibrancy. His lips were pale and trembling. The dark bruises stamped on his skin were what made him wail, hand smacking against the mirror as if to cover it as his head bowed into the bowl of the sink and became a second faucet of his tears.

“Marsh...?” came a soft voice, accompanied by a light knock on the door. “Can I please come in, baby? Please...” Shane pleaded. The farmer realized that his momentary aversion to touch had rendered him so _cold_ , and he needed those strong arms to extinguish the fire in his skull. He nodded, forgetting for a moment that Shane couldn’t see him, and then twisted – ribs yelping in pain – to open the door and close it behind his boyfriend. It was uncanny how the shorter boy instantly knew to wrap his arms around Marshall’s midsection, albeit carefully to avoid exacerbating his injuries. Marshall cried in that ugly and loud fashion he’d always hated as he leaned back against the embrace.

“Am I ever going to be okay, Shane?” he whined, desperately. “I mean... will this ever get _better?_ ” Shane planted a tender kiss on the back of his neck and sighed.

“I’m not... I’m not as good with words as you are,” he mumbled into the farmer’s neck. “But I do know that there’s not a damn thing you can’t get past... if you give yourself the time and get yourself the help. Healing’s not easy. Rhonda says it’s like... being trapped in a burning basement and the only escape is a ladder made out of aluminum.” Marshall’s breathing had gradually calmed, and now his vision swam tiredly as he looked at Shane’s hands interlaced across his meager stomach. “If it’s any consolation,” Shane muttered. “It’s gonna take me a long fucking time, too.” The farmer felt warmth trickle down his neck and realized Shane was silently crying, as well. Marshall turned in Shane’s embrace to face him, looking down at the one person in the world who’s truly seen him naked (and not just physically). He allowed a small smile to settle on his lips as he cupped Shane’s slightly stubbly cheek, rubbing his thumb idly back and forth on the cheekbone. Marshall’s voice came out achingly quiet, and equally loving.

“Aren’t we a mess, dear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are not out of the angst woods yet, my dear readers. But soon. Soon.


	23. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it looks like this fic will be a total of 26 chapters (26 being an epilogue and the only thing I've left to write)  
> I already have ideas of more fics, though, so hopefully you might stick around!

When the two boys had finally left the bathroom and shuffled back into their shared bed, they had almost fallen sleep until Maru opened the door, wheeling a hospital tray with Marshall’s food.

“Here you are!” the nurse chirped. “Need anything else? More napkins? More utensils?” There was a Styrofoam bowl of tomato basil soup, a chocolate pudding cup, and a bottle of water on the tray; accompanied by a flimsy plastic spoon and a few thin napkins. Marshall fought back a groan, knowing that he really did need to eat. He shook his head as Maru wheeled the tray so that the wheeled base slotted under the bed while the tray jutted out in front of the farmer. “Okay! Press the nurse button on your remote if you change your mind.” She smiled a calm and professional smile, before turning and clicking the door shut behind her.

Marshall picked up the spoon with a small sigh, hating the familiar guilt of having people worrying whether he ate or not. He felt Shane’s large hand settle on his back and rub soothing circles there. As the first spoonful of the soup flooded his mouth, he found himself humming in approval, despite himself. It was warm on his tongue and it was warm as it travelled to his pleading stomach. Maybe... just _maybe,_ he could do this.

After the farmer finished eating, Shane helped him push the tray back so that it didn’t hover over them. They laid down and Marshall found an immense pleasure at being able to bury his face in Shane’s chest again, making little, contented noises at the back of his throat as he got comfortable. Shane’s fingers threaded through his hair and played with it languidly. His boyfriend’s warmth combined with those gentle fingers were what lulled Marshall into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.

-

Marshall woke first, his body used to the sleep schedule of the farm. Shane’s arms were wrapped around him, a hand still tangled in his hair. He smiled at the adorably soft snores coming from above him – undoubtedly caused by the dressings on his nose - and curled his arm tighter around his boyfriend’s waist. The movement seemed to rouse Shane and he heard a loud yawn and felt legs stretching underneath the blanket. He lifted his face from Shane’s chest to look up at him, smiling.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Marshall teased. Shane chuckled, removing his hand from Marshall’s mane to curl his fist against an eye and rub the exhaustion away.

“Morn’,” he tiredly slurred back. Marshall couldn’t resist after that. He leaned up and captured Shane’s lazy smirk with his own. They kissed a bit sloppily, biting lips and flicking tongues; morning breath be damned. Their mouths disconnected hastily when they heard the door open again, Lewis strolling in before the man paused awkwardly.

“Oh err... sorry, gentlemen,” he coughed into his fist, embarrassed. “I, um... just came to see how you were doing.” Marshall turned onto his other side to face the mayor.

“We’re fine,” Marshall rasped. “Thanks to you and Harvey, of course.” He saw Lewis smile gently. “If you hadn’t gotten there so quickly... well...” He swallowed a lump in his throat, willing himself not to focus on what-ifs.

“Oh, well interestingly enough, I was already here for Harvey’s business tax when you phoned him. What happened yesterday was horrific.” Marshall wasn’t sure how to respond to that. ‘Thanks, Captain Obvious?’ He managed a small shrug and a nod.

“Y-yeah well thanks for, um... bringing the documents. Before I told you about their visit, Shane reassured me that you wouldn’t let them take Briar Steep from me, but... well, I guess I just couldn’t believe that until last night.” He sighed, sitting up in the bed. He heard rustling behind him as Shane did the same.

“Of course, dear farmer,” Lewis’s eyes sparkled kindly and his voice held the same caring cadence from when Marshall first stepped off the bus from the city.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Shane hissed, suddenly. The farmer whipped his head back as his boyfriend’s hands ran nervously through his purple hair. “I forgot – I need a doctor’s note for work.”

-S-

A week later, Shane grumbled as he trudged to work, uniform on and nose still bandaged. Harvey cleared him for work that day, but he wouldn’t give Shane a note falsely claiming a fever for the day of the incident. The doctor reassured him that he’d called his boss personally and that Morris understood. What the _brilliant_ doctor didn’t know was how good the banshee fucker was at lying and putting up a front. Thunder boomed above him as rain being to beat down on his grumpy face. Just terrific.

The automatic doors slid open as the glaring fluorescent lights stung his eyes. He stalked past a very smug Morris and clocked in. Turning to head to the shelves, Morris slid in front of him and threw a coarse, Joja-branded towel at him.

“Dry off,” he sneered. “You look like a drowned rat.” Shane bit back anger as he hastily scrubbed the water from his hair and shirt, before throwing the towel back at his boss. Morris glowered at him but stormed off without any shrieking, thankfully. As Shane did his job that day, he couldn’t help but notice that his usually hovering boss was making himself scarce. Perhaps Harvey really had shaken some compassion into the man. Finishing with one aisle, he moved to the next and froze. It was all empty. He was used to seeing a few sparse shelves when restocking, sure. But never a completely empty aisle.

“Quit slacking and get back to work!” The shrill voice behind him nearly make him jump out of his skin. Despite the raging agitation that coiled in his stomach, he faced Morris with confusion.

“What’s happening over here?” he gestured behind him. Morris pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I thought I had hired someone literate,” he murmured condescendingly. “Did you not read the sign on the front door?” Shane grit his teeth together. He thought to himself idly that he’d been too lost in his thoughts to pay attention to any signage when he’d walked in. His confused silence was enough answer for Morris, who threw up his arms incredulously. “That pesky _farmer,_ ” he spat. “finished renovating that eyesore that was supposed to be an immaculate JojaMart warehouse. Without the building at our disposal, corporate is forcing us to shut the store down.” Shane bit the inside of his cheek painfully, hopelessly confused.

“Marshall finished the Community Center?” he wondered, aloud.

“ _God,_ you are truly useless.” Shane ignored the comment.

“Well, what about my job?” At this, Morris scoffed and shrugged.

“Guess you’ll have to find some other generous manager to put up with your pathetic stunts. Which, by the way,” Morris growled. “You’re lucky that nosy doctor covered for you, or else you wouldn’t have the luxury of staying until the end.” Morris’s watch beeped suddenly, indicating that it was 5PM. “Ah, which is now. If you’ll kindly get out of my way, I have to pack for my move and new corporate job.” He stuck out his meager chest with pride.

“What do you mean?!” Shane cried, angrily. “This is the last day and you don’t tell me until now?!” Morris laughed rudely and glared mischievously at his employee.

“Sorry, did you need more notice?” he taunted, pouting exaggeratedly before clapping Shane on the shoulder roughly. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.” Shane lost it, finally choosing the fist option as his knuckles connected with his parasite’s jaw with an audible crunch. As he stormed from the store, he left the shrieks and groans of pain in his wake. It gave him an almost electric form of energy that kept the heavy rain from making him shiver. As he got nearer to the farm though, he stopped.

Why hadn’t Marshall told him?

-M-

Marshall nervously fidgeted with the object in his pocket, drenched but smiling. He nervously looked at the clock above the stove: 5:20PM. Shane should be home soon. He couldn’t wait to wrap his boyfriend in a warm hug and perhaps have a nice meal. His ribs were still wrapped and Harvey insisted that he at least _try_ to give his voice a rest. When the front door finally opened, he ripped his hand from his pocket. Butterflies occupied his stomach and he nervously shifted from foot to foot. He was so preoccupied with his anxiety, he didn’t notice the glare Shane was giving him at first.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The shorter boy’s voice was ice. It shocked the farmer with its chill and suddenly his pocket burned and his heart thumped, mind racing.

“Uhh...” his mind stalled. “W-what do you mean?”

“The Community Center,” Shane spat. Marshall hated every second of that tone, suddenly feeling like he was back at the town square, just days into his arrival to Pelican Town when Shane had spoken to him similarly. “Why didn’t you tell me you had finished it?” Marshall’s face contorted in confusion as he struggled to understand why this was making him so angry.

“I-I don’t know...? I didn’t think it was that important to you,” he said, raising his voice a little with the force of his incredulity, making the bruising protest. “Did you want to have a party over it or something?! What’s the big fucking deal-“

“The big deal is I just lost my goddamn _job,_ Marshall!” Shane yelled. “JojaMart is closing because they didn’t get their stupid little warehouse!” The farmer felt his anger burning in his stomach, to match the persistent burn in his pocket.

“And that’s _my_ fault?!” he cried. Shane threw his arms up, scoffing.

“Well unless you know of some other do-gooder that was working on it, then yes! Yes, it fucking is!” Shane’s arms fell back down to slap against his thighs as he shook his head forcefully. “I mean, you couldn’t have warned me at all?! Maybe a little ‘Hey babe, how do you feel about unemployment?’ or ‘Oh by the way, you’re about to lose the one last thing you can do to support Jas and Marnie!’” Shane was visibly trembling with rage at this point. “I mean do you _think_ about anyone besides yourself, Marshall?!”

“Get out,” Marshall hissed. Shane’s expression faltered for a moment before hardening again to mask the shock. Marshall didn’t care; he was too hurt and confused and didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of this impromptu tantrum. “Get the fuck out, Shane!” Shane grit his teeth as he turned and slammed the front door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame and draw a distressed yelp from Amelia.

Marshall sank to the ground and sobbed loudly into his knees. He soon felt a body brushing against his shins and looked up to see Amelia staring at him. He pet her, sniffling against his jeans. He felt the object in his pocket digging into his thigh and cursed bitterly.

“Why did he say I was ready?” he asked the empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s-sorry.. <3


	24. Over and Over, the Only Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they grow up so fast (':

Shane stormed into his aunt’s house, slamming the front door behind him. Marnie jerked her head up and Lewis spun around. Shane noticed with disgust that they’d been way too close for professionalism or even friendship. He rolled his eyes and stomped into his room, slamming that door, too.

He desperately wanted a beer. No, he wanted a whole fucking case. He checked under his bed and ripped open his mini-fridge, cursing when he only found his usual sparkling water or juice. Of course, Marnie and Marshall had been thorough when removing potential relapse material. He ran shaky hands through his soaked hair and racked his brain for a solution. After a solid 20 minutes of yanking at his hair and glaring at his rug, he was struck with an idea. He dug out his phone and bit his lip, nervously. Rhonda _did_ say he could call her in particularly difficult situations. Considering he felt like either drinking or jumping in front of Pam’s bus, he concluded that this felt pretty fucking difficult.

He punched her number in and held the phone to his ear, pacing his floor. _What if she gets pissed that I’m calling outside of office hours?_ He thought as he worriedly walked back and forth. _What if she doesn’t even pick up-_

She answered after only the first few rings.

“Hello?” came the gentle voice. He immediately soothed, the angry pacing slowing just a touch. He tried to rummage through his brain for words that he could string together into a sentence but kept coming up empty. “Shane, right?” he heard her ask for confidentiality’s sake. He merely grunted in affirmation. “All right. Go ahead and sit down for me. Just talk when you’re ready.” Shane sighed, shoulders sagging in a mixture of relief and agony as he sunk to the floor with his back pressed against his bed.

“I fucked up,” he mumbled. His head swam as if he had actually found alcohol to pour into his system.

“That’s the judgment talking, Shane. Tell me what happened.” Her reassuring and gentle prodding had never failed to get him to open up like the shell of a hatching chick. Her voice never held pity or scorn, and he didn’t know how the hell she did it; but she was _good._ He told her everything that had happened since he had gotten into work. He also gave her an abridged version of the disastrous dinner date with Marshall’s parents.

“I just feel like he should’ve _known._ How could he not have realized that he was fucking me over? Why wouldn’t he at least _warn_ me?” Shane’s voice was loud but hardly angry so much as exasperated.

“Did you know he was working on the Center before today?” Shane’s mind instantly snapped back to the day at Pierre’s shop. He remembered Marshall towering over his former boss and the memory brought a new wave of rage and guilt.

“I mean, yeah.”

“Did you realize then what that might mean for JojaMart?” At this, Shane huffed.

“ _No._ ” He felt cornered. He hated this feeling. He hated being faced with how often he screwed up a good thing all because he was an idiot who didn’t know how to handle stress. Thankfully, Rhonda didn’t let his inner thoughts consume him further than that before she continued.

“It’s okay to be angry, Shane. You use your job to accomplish a lot for your household. You’re not the first to feel the pressure of unemployment, and you surely won’t be the last.” Rhonda’s soft voice silenced the self-deprecation that had been building. Even when Shane’s mind told him he was a horrible person, she always knew how to frame it so his mind ran into a brick wall. Mulling over her words, he just couldn’t argue with that. “Right now, what we need to do is problem solve. Have your aunt or a friend or Marshall help you job hunt. You have a lot of people in your corner, including me. You don’t have to do this alone.” Shane squeezed his eyes as tears fell down his cheeks.

“What if Marshall doesn’t ever want to talk to me again?” he asked. It felt like such a pitifully desperate question, but he needed Rhonda to smooth this wrinkle in his mind. He needed this thought to run into one of her brick walls. “He was angry at me in a way I’ve never seen before. Not since the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies festival. I... I was just so damn _scared_.” He cursed as his voice cracked and tears threatened to spill down his cheeks.

“From what you’ve told me about Marshall,” Rhonda spoke, slowly; carefully. “Y’all have been through a whole lot. If I were a betting woman, I’d say he isn’t the type to discard someone he cares about after one little fight. After all, didn’t you say that was the case back in the summer? After _that_ fight?” Shane furrowed his brow and gnawed his lip.

“Y-yeah... I think so...” he whispered. “You really think we’ll be okay?” In response, a light chuckle drifted from the other end.

“Honey, the way you speak about that boy and the stories you’ve told me about him? You’ll be just fine as long as you communicate with him. Be open, Shane. Remain true to yourself and don’t hide behind that anger. You don’t need it anymore.” With that, they said their goodbyes and hung up.

-M-

He had slowly migrated from the kitchen floor to his bedroom, quietly crying into his pillowcase. How could he have been so utterly dense? Even Lewis had mentioned this to him on the day he first saw the Community Center. JojaMart was constantly listed as a rival to the structure. So, how could he not have anticipated how it would affect Shane?

He sniffled miserably, wondering if he had permanently screwed everything up between them. Would Shane always resent him for being the cause of his unemployment? Would he start drinking again? Would he start thinking about those cliffs? Marshall’s body crumpled with a fresh round of sobs when that last thought crossed his mind. He told himself he would be responsible for Shane’s descent into depression. As his thoughts turned darker, he realized with a desperate scrap of lucidity that his mind was tipping into dangerous territory – territory he wasn’t supposed to allow himself to visit.

He dug for his phone in the pocket that wasn’t seemingly on fire and tapped on Mark’s contact. He hastily typed out a text before that lucidity waned and his mind convinced him not to reach out.

**M: Hey. It’s Marshall.**

Marshall sighed in frustration. He should be sending a more detailed opener, but he couldn’t figure out how to word it. He heard his phone ding and returned his desperate eyes to the screen.

**T: Good evening, Marshall! What can I help you with?**

Clutching onto any dignity he could, Marshall poured everything into a series of long texts, until he realized he’d been dripping tears onto his phone screen. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and anxiety. But when Mark’s reply came relatively quickly, Marshall found himself grateful that he had decided to make contact.

**T: It sounds to me like Shane might have been more angry at himself. Financial stress is one of the most intense pressures. From what you’re telling me Shane said, he seems to be having a hard time with the thought that he can’t support his family. Especially in today’s culture, a lot of expectation is put on men to be a steady source of income. You are not at fault for a domino effect you could not control. However... I don’t doubt for one second that you want to help him through this. Both of you seem to have gotten quite heated, but if what you said about him in our first session was true, then this is not irreparable. Do you think you would be able to talk to him? Perhaps when you’ve both had time to cool down?**

Marshall’s breathing was quick and harsh as he read the message over and over and over. What did Mark mean that it wasn’t his fault? Was it Shane’s? No, it surely couldn’t be.

**M: How am I not in the wrong if Shane isn’t?**

He found himself chewing on his thumbnail, a habit he had broken back in middle school. Or so he’d thought. He rolled onto his side, but quickly hissed as he felt his body putting pressure on the object in his pocket. He couldn’t afford to break it, no matter how scathing it was at the moment. He rolled onto his back and tried to focus on dulling the pain in his ribs before hearing another notification sound.

**T: Fault is not always relevant. A lot of times, you’ll find that stressing about where to place fault just makes situations more complicated and tense. Instead, try looking at the altercation from an objective perspective. You accomplished a long-term goal which had an unfortunate but unforeseen impact on Shane. He was laid off with little to no warning. He panicked and got upset at you which, in turn, made you confused and upset, too. You both yelled and when it got to be too much, you kicked him out. The point is – you were both hurting. Trying to pin blame on one another or on yourselves only contributes to that hurt. At the end of the day, it was simply a conversation gone sour. I’m confident that if you want to make amends, you can and you will.**

He struggled to calm the whirlwind in his brain as he tried to wrap his mind around the words. He had never taken the chance to consider that there didn’t always need to be blame. Even at the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, Marshall and Shane had just blamed themselves in the end. There has never been a simple _absence_ of it. Especially not when he grew up in a household that worshipped shame and fault as if it were a deity. But he couldn’t deny that the thought made him feel lighter.

Suddenly, there was a soft knock on his door. Marshall knew who was on the other side – “cool down period” be damned – like he knew the direction of the rising sun. He hoped the gentle sound implied the yelling was over. He slowly slid out of bed, absentmindedly stroking Amelia, who had been curled by him while he cried. He shoved his hand in his pocket and fiddled with the object nervously as he opened his front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's in that pocket, marshy??


	25. Everything Comes Back to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay, the last two titles are a Niall Horan reference... sue me. 
> 
> no don't i'm poor  
> Enjoy the final chapter of the fic! Thanks to everyone who has been here along the way and thanks to all the future readers who stumble upon my desperate attempt at Stardew Valley romance <3

Shane stuffed his hands in his pockets after knocking, hunching his shoulders forward nervously. He heard quiet shuffling from within the previously welcoming cabin before the door creaked open. He glanced up at Marshall through strands of wet, purple hair. When he saw the red, puffy eyes and still-damp cheeks, he shivered – and not from the chilly winter rain.

For several agonizingly awkward moments, the two stood there, not talking and not looking at each other. It wasn’t a pride stand-off – it was fear that gripped them into silence.

“I think Lewis is banging Marnie,” Shane muttered, as the tension became unbearable. “I thought you were pranking me when you said you found his underwear in her room-“

“This isn’t what you came to talk about,” Marshall interrupted. Shane sighed and rocked back and forth on his feet, nervously. The farmer was a bloodhound for bullshit.

“Look, can I come in?” In response, the tall boy moved to the side and opened the front door wider. Shane shuffled in, still crumpled in on himself like a used tissue. After Marshall closed the door behind him, he stood – frozen on the spot and dripping into the entryway.

“Let me get you a towel,” Marshall sighed. He grunted in response, gnawing his bottom lip. As he was handed a large, black towel, he ached at the realization that he recognized it. It was almost too much to bear to be faced with how ingrained Marshall’s life and house and belongings were in his. He really hoped he would find his goddamned voice soon. He watched Marshall move to the living room couch, sitting tensely on the edge of a cushion before twisting around and patting the cushion next to him. “Sit,” he invited.

Shane felt like his legs belonged to someone else as he slowly ambled over. He felt like a man walking in front of a firing squad. When he sat, he sat as far as possible from the farmer. He leaned forward with his knees on his elbows and stared at his hands, which he interlaced. The thick silence was suffocating and the unused towel across his shoulder weighed on him.

“I didn’t even realize either,” Shane grumbled, finally. He felt Marshall’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t return the look. “I heard you mentioning it when you ripped into Morris at Pierre’s and I didn’t even realize either.” His shoulders lifted in a hopeless shrug.

“This wasn’t my fault, Shane.”

“I _know-_ “

“But it wasn’t yours, either.” Shane finally snapped his head up to meet those gray-green eyes. He was floored when all he found was disdain and a fear that matched his own. “I can’t begin to imagine what I’d do if I weren’t getting income from the farm. I wouldn’t be able to stay, I’d probably have to move to the city, maybe forced to be homeless...” He heard the boy take a shaky breath as his fingers raked through messy black hair. “I’d be angry, too.” Shane shook his head.

“I still shouldn’t have said those things to you. It was wrong of me.” Shane bit back a gasp when his boyfriend gently unlaced his left hand and took it in his own. It was so warm and dry, compared to the soaked and freezing one he had to offer in return.

“Wrong and right is pointless,” Marshall said, eyes idly scanning as he thought out his words. “Stress makes you angry and... confusion makes _me_ angry.” The farmer thumb rubbed back and forth over Shane’s damp knuckles. “I was never taught how to communicate well or... or process my feelings... but Mark helps with that.”

“I called Rhonda,” Shane blurted. Marshall’s eyes fell on him and again and the wide grin that spread across his face made the suffocation in the room lift just enough for Shane to let his lungs get a full breath.

“What’d she say?” Suddenly, the farmer’s smile shattered and fell. “Wait are... are you okay?” Shane couldn’t bear to hold eye contact anymore, dropping his gaze to their connected hands.

“No- well, maybe- but-“ Shane let out a frustrated sigh before he tried again. “I blamed myself a lot when I left and I really just wanted a fucking _drink._ ” He felt Marshall’s hand squeeze and tried not to focus on how the farmer might be interpreting his words. “So, I called her instead. We talked and... and I realized that I kinda got worked up over Marnie and Jas. What use am I if I can’t bring home a paycheck?” he asked their fingers. All at once, arms were wrapped around him and his boyfriend’s face curled into the crook of his neck. Shane’s eyes widened in shock before gently returning the embrace.

“You’re worth so much more than that dead-end job with an abusive prick of a manager. You’re not even close to being useless, and I’m sure Jas and Marnie know that, too.” He pulled back, hands on Shane’s shoulders as he fixed him with a smoldering stare that danced with hope and relief. Shane almost felt as if those eyes were dumping those emotions into him, too. “I’m so glad you called her,” Marshall whispered. Shane nodded and took a deep breath.

“She said that maybe Marnie and Jas and”—his eyes flitted nervously to Marshall’s before flicking away again—“m-maybe you... can help me fill out applications, or something.” His boyfriend’s hands left his shoulders to cup his drying cheeks, forcing Shane to look at him. Shane saw an alarming amount of anxiety in that look and was almost alarmed. What in the world had the taller boy’s stomach in knots?

“Actually, Shane...” Marshall started, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I was hoping you’d help me out on the farm...” Shane stiffened immediately and grit his teeth.

“I don’t need your charit-“ he bit, harshly. But this time, he caught himself. _Don’t hide behind that anger,_ Rhonda’s voice filled his head. _You don’t need it anymore._ “I... don’t like accepting handouts.” He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Fuck, this was difficult.

“It’s not like that, Shane,” Marshall sighed. “I need help on the farm. You’d be helping _me._ You’re amazing with animals, and you know it. Winter is a death sentence for any crops, so my main focus is going to be livestock.” The farmer’s fingers squeezed his shoulders briefly. “I really could use another set of hands.” Shane was gnawing his lower lip in thought.

“At JojaMart, I made enough to pay Marnie’s rent and feed Jas. Would you- I mean do you think-“ The purple-haired boy squirmed uncomfortably at the financial discussion. Marshall let out a gentle chuckle and nodded.

“I could give you more than what Joja did, honestly,” he said with a head tilt. “I expect to pull in around 138,000G even in these colder months.” Shane’s eyebrows raised in surprise. He’d known his boyfriend lived comfortably, but that was a bit of an understatement. “Also,” the farmer said gently, grabbing the towel from Shane’s shoulders. “I didn’t hand this to you as a scarf,” he teased. With a swift movement, he unraveled the fabric and took the liberty of jostling Shane’s damp, purple locks with it. Shane chuckled and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling on his scalp. The farmer then looped the towel around the back of his neck and tugged the ends so that Shane’s face was lassoed closer to his. “Whaddya say?” His warm breath tickled Shane’s face as his soft smile turned into a grin.

“Okay,” he whispered back. That was all Marshall needed to connect their lips in a fierce kiss. Their mouths wept in a silent apology – an homage to the regret that they couldn’t resolve with their fumbling words. Just then, Shane’s stomach growled and Marshall’s wasn’t far behind. They broke the kiss to laugh loudly, the sound like a beam of light to slice through any dark tendrils of remaining tension.

“I have a pizza I was planning to pop in the oven,” Marshall said, with a playfully flirtatious wink. Shane raised an eyebrow and his tongue darted out to wet his lips almost unconsciously. Marshall bent toward his ear and whispered, “I even put some spare summer hot peppers on your half.” At this, Shane groaned and that was all the farmer needed to tip his head back in laughter again as they raced toward the kitchen.

-

Once they had put the pizza in the oven to cook for 30 minutes (much to the frustration of a famished Shane – “Maybe you’d make a great appetizer,” he’d growled at Marshall) the pair collapsed back onto the couch. Marshall sat with his back against the armrest and his long legs stretched across Shane’s lap. They were deciding what to watch when Shane saw Marshall pause and set the remote down. When Marshall locked eyes with him, Shane saw a crushing amount of anxiety.

“There was... something else I wanted to talk about,” Marshall whispered. He sat up, curling his legs underneath him to face the shorter boy. Shane’s breath hitched as his heart began to thump wildly in his chest as his irrational mind carried him away. _He’s ending it,_ he panicked. _He offered me the job so I wouldn’t take the break-up as bad_. “I know this has been a tense day for us and...” Marshall scrubbed his face with shaking hands. “When I planned to do this tonight, I didn’t anticipate...” He hastily twirled his hand in a vague gesture. “This... to happen.” Shane was thoroughly confused now. _Did he mean the dinner? Was the pizza planned more thoroughly than he’d thought?_ Marshall sighed. “But _with_ what happened, I saw that we can bounce back, you know? Even when we’re deep in our own shit, we can move past it. We can get better.” Shane slowly nodded. “That’s not something I’d ever want to lose.” The anxiety in farmer’s eyes was suddenly replaced by the familiar, loving warmth. They were also hopeful. “ _You’re_ not something I’d ever want to lose.” Shane laughed loudly, the nerves and self-doubt rising like bubbles from his chest and through his lips.

“Oh, _god,_ I thought you were dumping me!” he cried. Marshall answered with a small chuckle of his own.

“Actually... quite the opposite.” Shane saw one of those large hands dip into a pocket and grasp an object within before carefully sliding it out. It was a black box, and as Marshall tentatively removed the lid, Shane’s lungs stopped working. He was definitely dreaming. He had passed out in his room and dreamt up this entire visit. There was no way this wasn’t fabricated. Marshall wasn’t brandishing a necklace to him right now, and the necklace _surely_ didn’t have a mermaid pendant threaded through the chain.

“Well?” The farmer’s deep voice cracked. Shane’s brain ground to a halt and for what was quite possibly the first time in his life, he had no thoughts. All he felt was a mystifying serenity that was almost comparable to those corny scenes in movies where someone dove into a pool and everything slowed down to capture that miraculous feeling of _weightlessness._ With his eyes glued on the necklace, he almost missed the worry and doubt that covered Marshall’s face as the taller boy began to ramble in a panic. “I-I mean, it would be practical, would it not? We’d wake up together every day and work on the farm. Split profits, make meals, have Jas over for visits, and maybe...” His voice cracked as he trailed off. “ _Shane..._ ” The pained whisper finally brought him back into his shoes and his eyes snapped up, registering the implications of his silence. “Will you marry me?”

Of all the endings he had anticipated this night to have, this was not remotely what he’d pictured. But, he mused, that’s why he’d fallen for Marshall in the first place, right? The refreshing unpredictability, the vulnerability, the _rawness,_ the _authenticity._ Shane fell in love with the farmer because he wasn’t afraid of Shane’s mess; and he wasn’t afraid of being a mess himself. He loved Marshall because he taught Shane how to fly, how to unlock his cage, how to set standards. The shorter boy realized he had many years of progress to go, but so did his counterpart; and the way they coped today independently solidified that this wouldn’t be some tumultuous, volatile fling.

 _Hopefully, I won’t be around long enough to need a ‘plan’,_ Shane heard his own words echo in his mind. He wanted to be mad at his younger self, but he understood how hopelessly dark that abyss was. Now, though, Shane was finally able to picture a future. A future in which he wasn’t constantly on the brink. A future in which Marshall called him his _husband._ Even perhaps a future in which there was a small child with wild black hair and deep green eyes. It was right in front of him; he could almost reach out and touch it. In fact, he _could._ So, he let himself.

“ _Yes._ ”

They barely registered the far-off beep of an oven timer – that was on a different plane right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was flirting with the idea of an epilogue to this story but after a long, long time of consideration, I've more or less deduced that this fic is actually content to end here. This was a fun first try at Shane x OC, and I hope everyone who's read up until the end has enjoyed! If you did, please feel free to check out my other Stardew Valley work(s), as I'm partial to the rougher Shane characterization I formed there (and maybe you will be, too!)


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